Harry Potter: Courage
by read-reread-readagain
Summary: Courage: the ability to do something that frightens one; strength in the face of pain or grief. Harry Potter is sorted into the House of Lions, but the Slytherins hate him, and the Ravenclaws are the snakes' allies. Hufflepuffs don't want to be targeted, and the Gryffindors are unable to see past the illusion of the Boy-Who-Lived. The only thing on Harry's side is his own courage.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I using its name and affiliations to make money. All rights go to J. K. Rowling.**

**AN: This is the rewritten version of my incomplete story, Harry Potter: Courage. I scrapped several plot points from the first version so for any who've read the original few chapters, expect major differences.**

**Please read, enjoy, and review!**

Normal

"Speaking"

_'Thinking'_

_Writing_

**\- Line Break - **

In the Deputy Headmistress' office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, countless pieces of parchment were floating in orderly lines in midair, landing on the desk in three separate stacks. Sitting behind the desk, sorting through even more papers, was the Transfiguration Professor Minerva McGonagall.

She was currently sorting and sealing letters to each incoming first year. Each wizardborn eleven year old needed their acceptance letter and course list, and each muggleborn needed the additional directions to Diagon Alley. If there was a way for each letter to be prepared automatically she wouldn't be sitting here nursing a headache as she sorted through wizardborn and muggleborn students, signing each letter with an increasingly cramped hand.

So it was not an entirely unwelcome interruption when a loud crash and a shriek cut through the silence of the hall outside her office door.

Swiftly she stood up, accidentally knocking over a stack of half open letters as she did so, and moved to the doorway. She wouldn't reenter the office for fifteen minutes - it taking that long to fix the suit of armor Peeves had dropped in front of the new applicant for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job and reassure the terrified and stuttering man that the poltergeist was not trying to kill him.

When she retook her seat to continue sorting letters, she scooped up the pages that had fallen on the floor, glancing through them before waving her wand and tucking them neatly back in their envelopes.

She didn't notice the extra paper that joined the other two in the envelope addressed to Harry Potter.

**-** **Line Break -**

A bright Tuesday morning dawned over the houses of Privet Drive, accompanied by the morning's usual melody of engines starting, lawnmowers whirring, and windows being thrown open. It was June, and that meant summer was in full swing and the residents of Privet Drive were enjoying the lazy warmth that summer brought. In the spotless dining room of Number 4, a family of three sat around the table, heartily enjoying a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and muffins.

On one side of the table sat a blond boy of about eleven, and so fat it was a miracle he could roll out of bed every morning. He was avidly experimenting with the size of his mouth, attempting to discover how many muffins he could cram into it at once. Crumbs rained down over his many chins, landing in a mess on the table and floor.

Across the table the boy's mother smiled fondly at him as his mouth finally reached full capacity: four muffins. The mother was tall and thin, with fingers that moved continuously; tapping on the tablecloth, fussily straightening the napkin on her lap, moving her fork in jerky movements as she ate minuscule bites of her meal.

At the head of the table a newspaper presided, opened to the business section, and nearly concealing the massive man behind it. The man's sheer bulk, so like his son's, was straining the chair beneath him to its limits.

This family's name was Dursley. Vernon Dursley worked at a perfectly normal drill company, called Grunnings, while Petunia Dursley made it her life's mission to live as ordinary a life as possible. They had one son, Dudley, and in their eyes he could do no wrong. If anyone inquired about this family, they would quickly be assured that the Dursleys were perfectly ordinary folk, with no connection to anything strange, weird, or abnormal.

This, of course, was an downright lie.

Sitting on the floor behind the kitchen counter was something so abnormal and different from the ordinary life the Dursleys claimed, that they had spent ten years trying to stuff it out of sight. This oddity was a small, even tiny, boy named Harry Potter.

The nearly eleven year old was strange for many reasons, but the main one was the fact that strange and inexplicable things often happened around Harry Potter. Things that could be called magical. And magical freakishness, the Dursleys had beaten into Harry, had no place in the world. It was an abomination that should be stamped out, and the Dursleys did their best to do just that.

Currently, Harry was holding a wet cloth to a large burn on his forearm where Aunt Petunia had hit him with the still hot frying pan. He hadn't cried, something that drove the Dursleys mad, even as it confirmed their belief that the boy was a freak. He simply took whatever punishment they delivered in stoic silence.

Out in the hall, the mail slot clicked and there was a light smack as several letters hit the floor. Quickly and silently, Harry slid out of the kitchen and scooped up the letters by the door. He turned to take the stack to Uncle Vernon, glancing at the letters as he did so.

He froze.

In his hand was a thick, heavy, yellow envelope addressed, unmistakably, to him.

_Mr. H, Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

For several long moments, Harry simply stared. Who would be writing to him? And how did they know about his cupboard? Were they watching the house? Was it someone he knew?

"Boy!"

He jumped, heart racing furiously, and frantically shoved his letter into the waistband of his baggy pants. Hurrying back to the kitchen, he carefully set the rest of the letters at his uncle's elbow, then backed quickly toward the doorway and out of reach. After a moment's hesitation it became clear that the Dursleys weren't going to acknowledge his presence, so he carefully slipped back to the hall and shut himself in his cupboard.

In the darkness of the cramped space, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Though the cupboard was used as a punishment as well as his bedroom, he always found the quiet darkness soothing. In his cupboard, no one could sneak up on him, and none of the Dursleys could even fit in here. It was his safe place.

Pulling the letter - his letter - from his waistband, he stared greedily at his name written in green ink. He'd never been more grateful for his unnatural ability to see in the dark, as it allowed him to read the words that had been written for him. With trembling hands, he broke the intricate wax seal on the back of the envelope and pulled out three sheets of heavy paper. As he read he could feel his heart pounding against his rib cage, as if it was some wild animal trying to break free.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore __(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, __Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on the 1st of September. We await your owl by no later than July 31st._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harry blinked, nonplussed. Witchcraft and wizardry? Hogwarts? Owl? He scanned the next paper, hoping it would help him make some sense of the first.

_First-year students will require:_

_Uniform_

_Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (Black)_

_One Plain Pointed Hat (Black) for day wear_

_One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_One Winter Cloak (Black, silver fastenings)_

_\- Please note that all student's clothes should carry name-tags at all times._

_Books_

_The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 by Miranda Goshawk_

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch_

_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore_

_Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger_

_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble_

_Other Equipment_

_1 Wand_

_1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_1 set of glass or crystal phials_

_1 telescope_

_1 set of brass scales_

_Students may also bring an Owl, a Cat or a Toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS._

That made no more sense than the first letter. Harry re-read the list, wondering if someone had sent it as a laugh. The elation he'd felt at the letter's arrival was swiftly crushed by disappointed resignation. Of course, it couldn't be real. A school for witches and wizards, magic wands, and spellbooks - everyone knew magic wasn't real.

Frustrated anger followed this thought. He'd been so _stupid_! He was a freak and a worthless burden to his aunt and uncle. No one was going to just appear and take him away to a world of magic. That was the sort of childish nonsense that would get him locked in his cupboard if he even mentioned it.

Refusing to acknowledge the hard lump in his throat, Harry folded up the letters and put them back in the envelope. He picked up the third piece of paper to set it with the others, but found himself reading through it desperately.

_For Muggleborn first year students:_

_Books and equipment can be purchased in Diagon Alley, London. The entrance to Diagon Alley is through the back door of the pub the Leaky Cauldron, found at 42 1/2 Leadenhall Market. Know also that the Leaky Cauldron is magically concealed from the muggle world so only magicals will be able to see it._

_You may exchange muggle money for wizarding currency at Gringotts Bank in Diagon Alley._

Harry looked again at the address. 42 and one half Leadenhall Market. He knew the market was real - Dudley had gloated endlessly after his parents had taken him and not Harry to the market for Christmas shopping last year. Was it possible that there was a pub called the Leaky Cauldron there?

"Boy!"

For the second time that day Harry jumped, heart racing. He scrambled to hide his letter under his threadbare blanket in the far corner of his cupboard. Shaking slightly with a mixture of fear and guilt, Harry left the relative safety of his cupboard and found his aunt, uncle, and cousin by the front door.

"We're going to Majorca for a few weeks." His uncle announced, grinning horribly while Aunt Petunia simpered next to him.

Of course. Uncle Vernon had won a two week vacation through his work at Grunnings, and their flight was leaving today. Harry had spent the last three days cleaning the house and packing the Dursleys' bags, and had been looking forward to today for a month, but the letter had driven it out of his mind.

"Food for you is on the table. Chores are listed there as well. If anything happens to this house while we're gone..." His uncle's horrible grin became downright malicious. He clearly wanted Harry to mess up the house, just to punish him.

Suppressing a shudder, Harry just nodded twice, eyes on his uncle's boots.

_'Just leave... please...'_

"Come on, Vernon. Our flight leaves in an hour."

_'Thank you, Aunt Petunia.'_

"Right."

Head still down, Harry watched the Dursleys' feet march out the door before it slammed closed. He remained where he was, holding perfectly still, until he heard Uncle Vernon's car pull out of the drive and down the street. Only then did he allow himself to relax a bit.

In the kitchen he found a loaf of bread, several apples and oranges, and four tins of tomato soup, but no can opener. Lifting his head, Harry gazed out the window above the sink. The sky was a clear blue, not a cloud in sight.

The Dursleys would be gone for two whole weeks.

There might be a pub called the Leaky Cauldron in Leadenhall Market.

The letter with his name and cupboard on it might not be a prank.

Deep in his heart, the hope he'd spent his whole life ignoring stirred.


	2. Chapter 2

Normal

"Speaking"

_'Thinking'_

_Writing_

Chapter 2

Since getting his letter, it had taken him the better part of two days to work up the courage to leave Privet Drive and venture into London. He knew there was a bus stop near his school, and that the bus went all the way to London, but his half-formed plans stopped when he realized the bus would require money, something he didn't have. That problem had been solved just that morning when he'd been dusting his aunt and uncle's room and had found a twenty pound note tucked away beneath the jewelry box.

Looking at the money, he'd made a split second decision. He would go to London and look for the Leaky Cauldron. He had refused the think about the very real possibility that the letter was a prank as he had still boarded the bus, and during the whole journey he had shaken like a leaf. Not only had he left Privet Drive on his own (for the first time in his life), but he'd stolen money as well. If Uncle Vernon ever found out... he didn't even want to imagine.

Now, as he stood on the edge of the crowded street, all thoughts of the Dursleys had fled. He stared in delighted disbelief between numbers 42 and 43 of Leadenhall Market where a dingy wooden sign proclaimed a particularly grimy building to be the Leaky Cauldron.

_'It's real!'_

Like the letter said, it didn't look as though anyone else could see this tiny pub, and Harry dared to think he was witnessing magic at work. Hesitantly, he pushed the creaky door open and entered the gloomy bar. He quickly scanned the room and was relieved to see there were only a half dozen occupants, though there were all wearing an odd assortment of robes and hats, and two women by the fireplace on his right kept moving their heads and hands in a rather twitchy manner.

Trying not to stare, and to appear as though he belonged there, Harry approached the bar and knocked hesitantly on the wood to get the barkeep's attention. An old, bald, and toothless man peered over the counter, squinting suspiciously at Harry, who held up his Hogwarts acceptance letter. Before he could decide what to say, the barkeep spoke.

" 'ogwarts." It was not a question. "Muggleborn?" That was.

Confused at the unfamiliar term, Harry tipped his head a bit, trying not to flinch as the barkeep's carrying voice caught the attention of a few patrons. In response to his apparent confusion the barkeep almost smiled. "Muggles is non-magic folk. Muggleborn, then. You'll be looking for Diagon Alley. This way."

Harry warily followed the barkeep to the back of the pub. Nothing was there except a few weeds and a dusty brick wall. Feeling trapped, Harry edged toward the door they'd come through. He was fast, he knew, and would be able to outrun the old man if he had to.

The man reached into his long coat and pulled out a long, thin piece of wood. _A wand? _Harry wondered, watching closely. The barkeep tapped out a sequence on the bricks and, to Harry's astonishment, the bricks simply vanished and an archway replaced them.

_'Magic! Real magic! It wasn't a joke! It's all real!'_

A chuckle to his left brought his attention away from the open display of magic and to the smiling barkeep. Abruptly realizing that his mouth was open, Harry closed it and shifted uncomfortably. He hated it when people laughed at him. He knew he was an ignorant layabout, as Uncle Vernon would put it, but that didn't mean he wanted others rubbing it in his face.

"Go to Gringotts Bank for money before you explore the Alley." The toothless man instructed, then turned back to his pub throwing a "Good luck!" over shoulder.

Swallowing reflexively, Harry turned to the archway and stepped through before he lost his nerve.

Diagon Alley was almost too much to take in. Used to quiet and out of the way corners, Harry felt exposed and vulnerable in the bright, vibrant alley. Even the displays of wondrous magical items in each storefront didn't make qup for the panic that spiked in his chest as he was buffeted about by the crowds.

Finally, he found himself catching his breath on the white steps of the marble building that towered at the end of the alley. The words 'Gringotts Bank' were clearly carved above a pair of enormous bronze double doors that shone in the sunlight. A short person stood on either side of the doors, and Harry's anxiety increased sharply as he realized they were wearing magnificent scarlet and gold armor and were gripping long, sharp spears.

Like he'd done in the pub, Harry stepped forward deliberately and tried to act as though he knew where he was going. He watched the guards closely as he passed between them, ready to bolt if they so much as looked at him. But he remained unscathed and found himself in an empty foyer before another set of doors, these a shimmering silver.

As he tried to calm the shaking in his hands and legs, Harry read through the warning poem engraved on the doors themselves.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the Sin of Greed_

_For those who take but do not earn_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn_

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there_

Harry couldn't quite suppress a smile. For some odd reason, the familiarity of veiled threats was comforting. He could deal with people who didn't like him.

He cracked one of the doors open just enough to slip into the bank, closing it silently behind him. Upon entering, he quickly scanned his new surroundings for exits and potential dangers.

The hall he'd entered was enormous, nearly cavernous, and made of what seemed to be solid marble. In two parallel lines facing each other across the doors were rows of beautifully carved desks. About two dozen men and women were standing at different desks, waiting in line, or going in and out of inconspicuous doors in the back.

As his gaze fell on one of the people seated behind the desks, Harry received yet another shock: the bank workers were clearly not human. They were no taller than he, with pointed ears and noses, swarthy skin and a variety of scars, long fingers, sharp teeth, and beady black eyes that shone with intelligence and cunning.

Shaking himself out of his shock, Harry joined the nearest line and tried to make himself as small and uninteresting as possible. Before he could fully calm his pounding heart, he found himself facing the non-human bank teller.

"Well?"

He - for the non-human was definitely male - sneered over his desk at Harry. Instinctively, the boy lowered his gaze and adopted a respectfully submissive posture as he pulled his Hogwarts letter carefully out of his pocket.

"Er... I, um... I just got an acceptance letter from... Hogwarts, and I'd like to know how to... to pay the... tuition... and things." He spoke quietly, trying to sound polite and not as though he'd spent most of the last three years in silence, though he couldn't help trailing off at the end. He wished fervently that he wasn't covered in grime from London's streets, and dirt from his weeding the garden that morning. It didn't help that his huge, second hand shirt kept slipping off one of his shoulders, or that his baggy trousers were literally held up with string.

"Hn." The teller's gaze swept down Harry's grimy, tattered form, and his lip curled in a thin sneer of disgust. Harry recognized the look, having seen it frequently on Aunt Petunia's face.

"Name?" The teller snapped impatiently.

"Harry... P-Potter." Harry stumbled over his last name, not used to saying or even hearing his full name. Uncle Vernon usually called him 'boy', or 'freak' when he was in trouble, and Aunt Petunia seemed to experience physical pain each time the words 'Harry' or 'Potter' came up.

For some reason the teller's eyes flicked to Harry's forehead, which was dirt smeared and hidden by his untidy, overgrown hair. The non-human's sneer became a scowl and for one wild moment Harry thought the Dursleys might have come here to tell these people he wasn't allowed, as they'd done in the ice cream parlor, library, and arcade by Privet Drive.

But no, he realized, that wasn't right. The Dursleys weren't magic. They couldn't come into Diagon Alley... could they?

"Harry Potter's entire Hogwarts tuition as already been paid in full." The tone was like ice, and the scowl twisted into a mocking smile. "Would Mister Harry Potter like an escort down to his vault?"

"Um... yes? Thank you." Completely confused, and becoming increasingly afraid, Harry thought the best course of action was to agree with whatever the teller suggested. That usually worked with Aunt Petunia.

Unfortunately, when the teller extended a hand with unconcealed impatience, Harry had no idea what to do.

"Your vault key, _wizard_."

Harry flinched. The teller said 'wizard' in the exact tone of contempt that his Aunt and Uncle used whenever they said 'freak'.

"Um... I don't... don't have a key." Harry's voice ended in a near whisper, and he couldn't repress another flinch at the teller's contemptuous scoff.

"Then, _wizard_," The teller sneered again, and condescension dripped from his voice, "I will need a drop of your blood to verify the validity of your claim of access to Harry Potter's vault."

Harry didn't understand, but he took the little penknife he was handed and obediently slashed the palm of his left hand, allowing a large drop of crimson blood to splash onto the parchment the teller had pushed forward. To his amazement, the red drop disappeared into the paper, which then glowed with golden words that scrawled themselves across the blank page.

More magic!

Harry didn't recognize what language the words were from, but the teller seemed to have no problem understanding.

"Well, Harry Potter, your claim is valid." The teller announced, rolling up the parchment with long fingers. He shoved it unceremoniously toward Harry, who set the penknife back on the desk and stuffed the parchment quickly in his pocket with his non-injured hand.

"You will be escorted to your vault now." The teller continued brusquely, "And unless you wish to bleed each time you visit Gringotts, I suggest you locate your vault key. Griphook!"

Harry jumped at the shout as another non-human seemed to appear out of nowhere and led Harry away from the desk with a grunted "Follow me."

"Thank you." Harry called quickly to the non-human he'd been talking to, before turning to follow the other one - Griphook, he repeated to himself - further into the bank.

To get to his vault, he had to ride in a little cart on a track that wound through caves, caverns, and tunnels going deeper and deeper into the earth. It was one of the most exhilarating feelings of his life. The rush of air, the sharp twists and turns, the stomach lurching drops - Harry felt as though he were flying.

When the cart came to a stop, he clambered out with a giddy grin on his face. That, he thought, was worth stealing twenty pounds and leaving Privet Drive without permission.

"You don't have your key." Griphook snapped, and Harry turned to him, smile vanishing quickly. "So you will need to give the door your blood to gain access."

Recognizing an order when he heard one, the boy stepped forward and ran the cut on his palm across the enormous, intricately decorated door, leaving a smear of red on the dark metal. Stepping back, Harry curled his hand slightly to prevent any blood from falling to the floor, and tucked it into his pocket.

There was a click, some whirring, and a clunk. Then the huge door swung open.

Afterward, Harry couldn't exactly remember how he got back to the alley. He'd seen the stacks and stacks of gold, silver, and bronze coins, and his brain had just stopped. It seemed completely out of the realms of reality that he had a fortune that looked like a dragon's hoard to his name.

He'd wondered if he was getting into the vault of some other Harry Potter, but with the way Griphook had been scowling, he hadn't worked up the courage to ask. He guessed that his blood was like his fingerprint, and the fact that his had unlocked the vault meant that all that money was indeed his.

So where had it all come from and who had put it there?

Now he stood behind one of the columns by Gringotts front doors, clutching the leather bag Griphook had given him in exchange for two of the gold coins. Harry had filled it to the brim with gold and silver coins, putting quite a few bronze ones into his pockets as well.

He had no idea how much how much he needed for his books and things, so he'd gotten as many coins as he could carry. However, he didn't know what they were worth, or, come to think of it, what they were called.

Gritting his teeth and gripping the leather bag tightly with both hands, he reentered the busy alley, trying to reach the shop he thought might be a good place to start. No one took any notice of him as he darted between and around them, though he flinched whenever someone got too close or bumped into him.

Finally reaching his destination, he stopped to calm his heart in the shadow of the doorway. Having caught his breath, he glanced once more at the shop's name - Bottomless: bags, purses, and sacks for all occasions! - before sliding quietly inside.

Thankfully, the store wasn't very full, so Harry relaxed a bit and looked curiously at the displays. Leather sacks like the one he clutched, little sparkling beaded bags, rucksacks like the ones Dudley had, and purses of all kinds sat on the shelves and stands. Harry wandered through it all, knowing he needed something to hold his school supplies, but not knowing exactly what he needed, or even what the prices were. He kept glancing at the shopkeeper, half expecting the man to spot him and kick him out.

The door suddenly opened and a large group of women entered, crowding the front of the shop. Harry backed up immediately, pressing himself against the shelves along the back wall. None of the newcomers seemed to notice him, but he kept his eyes on them anyway. He tried to shift behind a shelf as one of them looked in his direction, but ended up slamming his shoulder into the corner of a stand and knocking several bags to the floor.

Ignoring the throbbing that was sure to become a bruise later, Harry hurriedly replaced the bags on their shelf. As he picked up the last one, an old and rather battered looking brown canvas messenger bag with two large buckles on the outside, he paused to read the tag tied to the strap.

_This item has been enchanted with a Standard Undetectable Extension Charm, and two Minor Blood Seals on the central buckles, allowing none but the owner to open it._

_'This... looks pretty good.' _Harry thought, weighing the bag in his hand. He didn't know what that charm was, but he knew he wanted to be the only one to be able to open this bag. Imagining any of the Dursleys finding magic books and wands in his bag made him shudder. They'd probably burn his things and lock him up until he was eighteen and they could kick him out.

However, it'd be easy to just hide one bag. Would his books fit though?

"Hello, dear."

Harry jumped and spun around as the soft voice sounded directly behind him. Warily, he peered up through his dirty bangs at the woman who'd spoken. He was utterly dumbstruck.

She was, without contest, the most beautiful person he'd ever seen. Her hair was the same color as honey, and lay in an elegant twist over her shoulder. Her eyes were the light green of flower shoots, and they sparkled like gems.

More than this, she was wearing a smile like Harry had never seen directed at him before. Kind, gentle, and soft, it was the smile he'd seen mothers give their children, but that he had never gotten. He felt suddenly filthy standing before her warm glow, and panic clawed at the inside of his belly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." She took a small step back and continued, still smiling, "I just wanted to know if you had found a bag you liked."

Blinking in surprise, Harry nodded once, unconsciously gripping the messenger bag in the hand that wasn't clutching his bag of money. Was she going to take it? Aunt Petunia always took things from him when she found out he liked them.

"That's wonderful." The woman's smile became a little brighter, and Harry couldn't help but want to bask in its warmth.

"Would you like to come with me to the front?" She held up a light pink handbag that glittered in the light. "I've found the right bag too."

Wariness at people in general battled with the desire to spend a few more moments in the lady's warm presence. The latter won.

Nodding again, he took a little step toward her. A spark of something bubbly lit inside of him as her smile widened. Side by side, they went to the register where Harry suddenly remembered he still had no idea what the coins were worth or how expensive the bag was.

"I'd like to purchase this bag, please, wrapped if you will." The lady told the shopkeeper, distracting Harry from his panic, "And this little one would also like to make a purchase."

"Of course, madame. Let me ring you up." The shopkeeper took the pink bag from the lady's hand, and Harry paid close attention as he named the price of twelve sickles. The lady took out twelve of the silver coins (_sickles_ Harry committed to memory) and handed them to the shopkeeper, who waved his wand. Brown paper and string that had been sitting on the counter suddenly sprang up and wrapped the pink bag neatly, with a little bow on the top.

Harry flinched a bit at the sudden movement, and his heart beat in his throat as the shopkeeper turned to him.

"Well lad?" The shopkeeper was smiling, but Harry could see the hardness in the man's eyes. He understood. Harry was a filthy little boy in the middle of a store that kind and pretty ladies went to. He didn't belong there.

Ducking his head and taking courage from the lady's continued presence, he reached up and set the bag he wanted on the counter.

"This'll be six galleons and four sickles, lad."

Harry immediately went to open his money bag, but stopped when the lady spoke.

"Why so much? It seems an old bag."

Nervously, Harry listened, hoping the shopkeeper didn't get mad and not let him buy it.

"It is old, but it's got an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. That's a tricky bit of magic." The shopkeeper addressed the lady with a patient tone, completely ignoring Harry, which was a relief.

"Yes," The lady agreed, and her tone was equally patient, "but one standard extension charm doesn't cost more than two galleons."

"This bag's also got a security feature." The shopkeeper pointed out the two buckles. "Each of these is enchanted with a Minor Blood Seal. Each of those is usually three galleons, but the bag's been on the shelf for so long we lowered it to two galleons. So two galleons for the extension charm, two each for the blood seals, and four sickles for the bag itself."

The lady inspected the bag, then nodded. "That's a fair price. Thank you for explaining."

"Not at all." The shopkeeper bowed a little, then turned back to Harry, his eyes hardening once more above his smiling mouth. "So, lad, that's six galleons and four sickles."

Hands trembling, Harry opened his money bag a little, carefully counted out four silver sickles, and set them on the counter. Then he put his hand back in his bag and hesitated. Which one was a galleon, a gold or a bronze? Based on what had been said, a galleon was worth more than a sickle... and everyone knew that gold was better than bronze... so...

Taking a quick breath, he pulled out six gold coins and set them slowly on the counter, watching the shopkeeper closely. To his relief, the man took the coins without a word.

"Would you like your bag wrapped up?" The lady asked Harry, who blushed and shook his head. That made it like a present, and he didn't get presents.

The shopkeeper handed him the bag - _his _bag - and Harry clutched it close to his chest. He followed the lady to the door, then hesitated. She seemed to notice, because she turned toward him, still smiling. Her eyes were as kind as her smile was, and Harry couldn't find any trace of disgust or contempt in her face.

"I'm glad you were able to find the right bag."

That sounded like a goodbye, and for the first time in Harry's life he didn't want an adult to leave him. He'd never had someone look at him like she did, and he didn't want to go back to the world of sneering bank tellers and hard-eyed shopkeepers.

So, gathering all his courage, he looked up at her and said, "Th-thank you. Can I... please... buy you an ice cream?"

He blushed immediately and ducked his head. It was a selfish question, he knew, but he hoped she would let him stay with her just a little bit longer. When she didn't speak right away, he braced himself for her refusal. Maybe she'd see how selfish he was and scold him like Aunt Petunia did.

"I would love that."

Harry's head shot up and he stared wide-eyed at the lady who was, unbelievably, still smiling at him. A little smile of his own found its way onto his face in response before he realized he had no idea what to do now. Frantically casting about in his mind for some hint, he remembered Uncle Vernon taking Aunt Petunia out for the evening.

He tucked his new bag under his left arm, still gripping the moneybag in that hand, but then realized he was too short for her to hold his elbow. So, before he lost his nerve, he held out his hand toward her. She took it in hers and he led her out into the Alley.

This time, the crowds didn't bother him. With the lady's warm hand around his, he felt like nothing could touch him. He kept looking up at her, mesmerized by her shimmery hair, dancing eyes, and never fading smile.

So absorbed he was, that he almost walked past the ice cream shop he'd seen on his way to Gringotts. It was the smell of toffee that caught his attention, and he stopped in front of the door. It had been teeming with people earlier, but as they entered the shop he realized with relief that the crowds had died down significantly.

"Welcome my lady, and welcome to the little master!"

Harry blinked in shock as they were greeted enthusiastically by a white haired, large bellied man wearing a uniform that was lime green, bright pink, and banana yellow. Overall, he looked like a bowl of sherbet.

The sherbet-man bounced towards them, grinning in delight and clapped his hands in excitement.

"No day is complete without a sweet treat from Florean Fortesque's!" He declared with so much enthusiastic arm waving that Harry took a step back.

"What would you both like, then?" The large man bounded over to his place behind the counter and donned a baby blue apron and matching hat. Harry and the lady both moved to the front of the counter and looked at all the choices. Harry hadn't ever had ice cream, so he had no idea what to pick. Though he was certain some of the flavors, like 'Charmingly Cheese' and 'Sleeping Snarggaloff' were only found in magical ice cream shops.

"Wait, don't tell me!" Cried the shopkeeper as the lady opened her mouth to order. She closed it again, sending an amused glance to Harry.

"You, my lady," The man narrowed his eyes, pointing an ice cream scoop at her, "seem like a woman of refined taste, with a discerning eye, and tastefully decorated sitting rooms. Therefore..."

He darted up and down the long counter, spinning, scooping, and making various exclamations of delight as he went. He returned the next moment with a full bowl of ice cream, before Harry could do more than wonder what sitting rooms had to do with ice cream flavors.

"Viola!" The man declared, lifting the bowl up as though he'd found a cache of jewels. "One scoop of strawberry, one of mango, and one of peach, drizzled with a purely raspberry puree and topped, classically, with a dollop of whipped cream and a cherry. A Very Fruity Bowl for you, my lady."

Harry had to let go of the lady's hand as she took her ice cream, thanking the man with a laugh. His hand suddenly felt very cold, and he couldn't help but feel alone again, even though she was still standing by him.

"And you, little master."

Harry looked up at the shopkeeper, surprised that the man's friendly smile and big, jolly voice hadn't changed when he looked at him.

"You seem like a very kind little master, who always eats his vegetables, and never puts nifflers in his grandmother's china cabinet. For you..."

He was off, spinning and scooping up and down the counter again, and Harry was left wondering what on earth a niffler was. The man returned as suddenly as he'd left, proffering a bowl now bearing ice cream.

"A scoop of chocolate, and a scoop of vanilla, with a warm treacle tart in the middle, and topped, like the lady's, with whipped cream and a cherry."

Harry took the bowl carefully in his right hand, and gave the shopkeeper a slightly awkward bow.

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome, both of you!" The man beamed, then shooed them toward a little table along the wall. "Now go enjoy yourselves. Don't worry about payment until your bellies are full, your eyes are droopy, and you've sworn off any other ice cream establishment!"

With another laugh, he bounced away to where a few new customers had just entered.

Harry glanced at the lady with a slight grin, and she laughed as they took their seats across from each other in the booth, Harry setting both his bags carefully between him and the wall.

"I've never come to this ice cream parlor before." The lady said, using a silver spoon with a ridiculously long handle to scoop a bite of ice cream from her bowl. "And I'm beginning to think I've been missing out. Thank you for taking me here today."

Harry blushed, and grabbed his own weird spoon. It took him a moment to figure out how to hold the strange thing, but then he managed to get a scoop of the chocolate ice cream into his mouth. Involuntarily, his eyes closed and he sighed. If this is what chocolate tasted like, then Harry didn't blame Dudley for keeping a stash of it under his bed.

He tried the vanilla, then a piece of the warm tart, then went back to the chocolate. This was heaven! Swallowing, he glanced up at the lady, suddenly wondering what to say. She was, like he, savoring her ice cream, and seemed perfectly content to sit in silence. But Harry remembered the women Aunt Petunia often had over for tea, and how they talked the whole time. And every time Aunt Petunia saw someone she knew on the street or over the fence, she would always stop and chat for at least five minutes.

Harry had concluded that women liked to talk, but he'd never before had to carry a conversation with one. But he guessed that sitting in silence was not the way to go about it. So he took another bite of vanilla before setting his spoon down.

"I... I'm Harry."

The lady set her own spoon down, and held out her hand to him. "I'm Laurel Greengrass."

Harry took her hand again, but hesitated. Shaking hands was something men did to greet each other. Women said hello to each other by hugging or kissing the other's cheek. How did he greet a woman?

Deciding to compromise, and taking his cue from one of the movies Aunt Petunia liked to watch by herself, he leaned forward and kissed the back of the lady's hand. He sat back quickly and took a hasty bite of ice cream.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry." The lady - Laurel Greengrass - said, and Harry was amazed to hear his own name said with such warmth.

"It's nice to meet you, too." He replied, then added after a moment's thought, "Lady Greengrass."

Her lips came together like she was hiding a smile, and Harry took that to mean it was okay to call her that. They both took another bite of ice cream, then he asked a question he'd heard other children ask each other before they became friends. "What... what is your favorite color?"

Lady Greengrass paused for a moment, then said, "I love the color blue. I have a blue dress, and a blue necklace, and even a room with blue walls. What about you?"

Harry thought about that as he took another bite of treacle tart. What color did he like best? Not red, that was the color of blood, and he had too many nightmares about green lights to like that color. But he did like the little flowers in Aunt Petunia's back garden.

"Pink." He said, with certainty. "I like pink. There are pink flowers at my... Aunt's house, and they always look like they're dancing when the wind comes through."

Wondering if he'd said too much, he stuffed another scoop of ice cream into his mouth. His Aunt and Uncle never liked it when he talked, and he'd always wondered if it was because he said stupid things. Was what he'd just told Lady Greengrass stupid?

"That's a wonderful color." Lady Greengrass said, and Harry held in a sigh of relief as she continued, "My youngest daughter likes pink too. I was in the shop earlier to buy a purse for her, and luckily I found one in pink. I think she'll like it."

Harry nodded fervently. "She will." He couldn't imagine anyone being unhappy with presents from their parents. Even Dudley was, though he did complain about not getting enough.

"Thank you, Harry, I'm sure you're right." Lady Greengrass gave him another smile, and Harry felt like he should start counting them, wanting to know how many smiles he'd been given so he could count them in his cupboard when he got back to Privet Drive later.

"I..." Harry hesitated, wondering if Lady Greengrass would want to hear about him at all. Her smile (_one_) encouraged him, so he continued, "I went to Gringotts today. And... I bought this bag with my own money."

He held up his new bag, then remembered that she had been there when he got it. Again, his face lit up red, and he took another bite of ice cream to cool himself down.

"It's a fine bag." Lady Greengrass complimented with a smile (_two) _that gave no indication that she noticed his embarrassment.

Reassured, Harry kept going, "Now I can carry my things with me, and I won't have to worry about... losing them."

"You certainly won't lose things with that bag." Lady Greengrass nodded in agreement. "The blood seal enchantments will make sure of that. You need only be careful not to lose the bag itself."

Harry nodded. He'd guessed that the blood seals worked like his vault at Gringotts: without his blood, it wouldn't open. He'd just have to make sure to make sure to clean up any of his blood that got on the floor at the Dursleys, or they might figure out how to open his bag too.

After another couple mouthfuls of ice cream, he remembered another question he'd always wished he had a friend to ask it to. "What is your favorite pet?"

Lady Greengrass seemed to think about it, then replied, "I never had a pet growing up, but my grandmother had a parrot with the most beautiful blue and yellow feathers. And every time someone opened the door, it would say 'Welcome' whether you were going into the room or out of it."

Harry grinned at that, picturing a blue and yellow bird with a big beak squawking 'welcome' every time he went into his cupboard.

"And you?" Lady Greengrass asked, smiling (_three_) interestedly.

"I never had a pet either." Harry replied knowing his answer already, "But I like spiders. Sometimes I can watch them spin their webs in a corner, and it looks like lace when it's finished."

"I've never watched a spider spin a web before," Lady Greengrass admitted, tilting her head a bit, "but it sounds beautiful."

Harry took two more bites of ice cream, and then his spoon clinked on the bottom of his now empty bowl. He glanced at Lady Greengrass' bowl and realized it was empty as well.

Suppressing the sadness that welled up in his chest, he grabbed his moneybag, put his new bag under his arm, and stood. Lady Greengrass stood as well, and Harry walked slowly with her to the register. The bouncy, bubbly, sherbet-colored shopkeeper greeted them enthusiastically.

"How was your sweet treat, eh? No, don't tell me, it was wonderful! Am I right? Of course I am!"

Harry couldn't really smile, even though he thought the man was very funny. Instead he stepped forward and reached into his moneybag.

"Oh-ho, the little master is paying today then? What a good little gentleman you are, sir."

The praise made Harry forget his sadness for a moment, and he stood just a bit taller as he asked, "How much?"

"For each bowl, ordinarily, 1 sickle and 6 knuts, but for the little master's gentlemanly manners, and with the both of you being first time customers, it'll be half off today. Just seventeen knuts for each bowl."

Harry reached into his pocket, guessing that knuts were the little bronze coins he hadn't used yet, and pulled out thirty-four of the small coins. The shopkeeper took them with a grin and bowed both Harry and Lady Greengrass out of the shop.

Standing on the sidewalk of the alley, Harry turned to Lady Greengrass, and offered her a bow, taking his cue from the ice cream store shopkeeper. She returned his gesture with a curtsy and another smile (_four_).

"Thank you... for coming with me." Harry wished he could find better words to express how he felt. She seemed to understand though, for she smiled (_five_) and said, "I'm glad you invited me. I wish you a wonderful day."

"You too." Harry responded, then walked away quickly so he wouldn't have to watch her leave. He reached the other side of the street and couldn't help looking back.

She was gone.

-**Line Break-**

Five days later, late at night and after he'd finished all his chores for that day, Harry sat on the kitchen floor with a quill in his hand and a piece of parchment on the book he was balancing on his knees. According to one of the (many) books he'd gotten at the bookstore Flourish and Blotts - 'From Muggle to Magic, Things you need to know when joining the Wizarding World' -witches and wizards all wrote with quills and ink, so Harry had spent every evening since his visit to the Alley practicing writing with a quill.

At first it was terribly difficult, and he had left blotches all over the paper, but he wouldn't have been able to do all the chores his aunt gave him if he couldn't learn quickly. Now he could manage clean characters, but his normal scrawled handwriting was still the same. At least it was clearly legible and not covered in big splashes of ink.

On the parchment he was currently leaning over, he was writing his reply to the acceptance letter from Hogwarts. Regardless of the magic of Diagon Alley, he still felt like everything related to the wizarding world would disappear if he didn't reply to the letter that had changed his life.

So far, he'd written a couple drafts, following the style his acceptance letter had been written in, and now he felt confident enough to write out the full thing.

_Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Thank you for your offer of acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I gratefully accept my place at your school, and look forward to starting my education there._

_See you on September the 1st,_

_Harry Potter_

Scanning the letter for any misspellings or ink blots, Harry nodded his satisfaction. The first letter he'd ever written was successfully completed. He set it gently to dry on the floor beside him, then turned to the book he'd been using as a desk. It was titled 'Wizarding Etiquette: Everything you wish you'd known as a first year muggleborn'.

It explained everything from forms of address, to the meanings of different wizarding slang, to owl post and house elves, to how to properly greet other witches and wizards. It was this last bit that told Harry, to his relief, that greeting a witch by kissing her hand was a common practice, though children weren't expected to.

Surprisingly, there was a whole chapter devoted to forms of greetings alone, which Harry made a point to practice and memorize.

Children (up to age 13) greeting a wizard older than them were expected to offer their right hand to shake, and to do the same for older witches and for children their own age. After turning 13, witches began greeting their elders with a specific form of curtsy, and 13 year old wizards gave different forms of bows to those older than them, depending on the other's rank, and their own, and were expected to kiss a witch's hand if she offered it (usually only witches of high ranking jobs or families expected this treatment).

Harry practiced the different bows as he did his chores and as he worked in the garden, giving various greetings to Lord Rose Bush, Shopkeeper Spider, Lady Morning Glory, and Miss Black Ant.

He was also relieved to find out that he'd addressed Lady Greengrass correctly as well. Though it was usually only required in formal situations for those of high standing, witches could be addressed as Lady. However, wizards could only be addressed as Lords if they were the head one of 28 specific wizarding families. Unfortunately, the book didn't include a list of these 28 families, so Harry made a mental note to look them up later so as not to accidentally insult someone.

Harry closed Wizarding Etiquette, and checked his letter. The ink had dried, so he folded it carefully and tucked it into the envelope he'd gotten with his parchment, quill, and ink. Carefully addressing the envelope to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he sealed it with a bit of red wax from the candle the shopkeeper had added to his purchase of quill and ink. He didn't have a seal to imprint on the wax, so he just let it dry smooth.

He stood and set the sealed letter reverently on the counter. He was going to have to get back to Diagon Alley to send it, and the thought made him tremble with a mixture of excitement and fear. He had enough money left for three more trips to and from London, and the prospect of so much freedom was terrifyingly thrilling.

On his first and only visit to the alley, he'd discovered that the Undetectable Extension Charm on his new bag meant that whatever he put in just disappeared, and that he never ran out of room. He'd been able to put all his books and school supplies inside it, as well as his moneybag (now including the little bronze coins he'd learned were called knuts).

The cheap grandfather clock in the living room suddenly chimed, startling Harry badly. He held stock still, hardly daring to breathe as he listened intently to the sounds of the house. The hum of the fridge, the chirping of crickets outside, the fading echoes of the clock chimes, and his own pounding heart were all he could hear.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down. The Dursleys weren't coming back for another week... no one had come into the house... it was just the clock chiming midnight.

Wait... it was midnight.

Harry scooped up his book, paper, ink, quill, and letter and went to his cupboard. After tucking the precious items away carefully into his (magic!) bag, he reached beneath his narrow cot and pulled out the broken, purple crayon he'd filched when cleaning Dudley's room the other day.

Squinting a bit in the dark, and using the light he'd left on in the kitchen to see, Harry drew a little cake on the wall at the very back of the cupboard. He added eleven candles, and then the words 'Happy Birthday Harry' beneath it. With a little smile, he sat back.

He didn't usually celebrate his birthday, and the Dursleys never had, but with the discovery of magic it suddenly felt worth celebrating. Going to Diagon Alley tomorrow would be the best birthday present he'd ever gotten.

**AN: Hi readers! I'm actually on a roll with the story, so expect new chapters soon :). Also, please leave a review below. It means a lot to me to know people are enjoying my work! **

**Have a great week!**


	3. Chapter 3

Normal

"Speaking"

_'Thinking'_

_Writing_

Chapter 3

Harry sat on the floor in a back corner of Flourish and Blotts, surrounded by stacks of books he'd collected from the second hand bins. They were all on wizarding nobility and magical government, subjects Harry decided he needed to know as soon as possible. He didn't know anything _at all_ about the wizarding world, and he was terrified of making a mistake.

Happily, he was getting better at figuring out wizarding money, though he didn't want to spend what he had too soon. He didn't think the goblins (he'd looked up what the non-human bank workers were called) at Gringotts liked him, and he was used to staying out of the way of people who disliked him. Plus, he was had no way to earn more money.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?"

Harry jumped to his feet, spinning around to face the speaker. A little dark haired girl of about ten was looking curiously at him, but he couldn't think what to say. He'd never really talked to those his age before, especially girls.

"There are chairs over there." The girl continued, pointing, and Harry swallowed and gathered his courage to answer.

"Yes. But I... I need the space... for the books."

She glanced down at the stacks of books he'd collected, then giggled. "Yeah, I guess you do. Why do you have so many books?"

"Er..." Harry glanced down at them, as if they would answer for him. "I want to learn more about... magic and wizards... and stuff."

"Oh! Are you a muggleborn?" Her tone was curious, but there was a sudden undercurrent of wariness present as well. Harry heard it, and tried to think what to say that wouldn't drive her away.

"Um... maybe?"

The girl looked a little taken aback. "Maybe? How can you not know?"

Harry tried to explain, but his dry mouth made it tricky to speak. "I... I never knew my parents... they died when I was little, and I was... raised by my aunt and uncle. They're not magic... but I don't know if my parents were too. Muggles, that is."

To Harry's relief, the girl didn't leave. In fact, she looked intrigued. "You know, I bet I can tell you if they were our kind or not. There's a wizarding genealogy book that I read at home all the time that lists all the wizarding families. Some aren't on there because they're not very old, but your parents might be. What were their names?"

A little surprised at her enthusiasm, Harry stammered, "Um... I-I don't know their first names... but my last name is Potter."

At this, the girl's eyes widened. "Potter? Are you Harry Potter?"

Panic bloomed in Harry's stomach. Nothing good ever came of people recognizing him, or singling him out. He backed up a bit, but nodded in answer to her question.

Her eyes got even bigger, and went to his forehead, which was, as usual, covered in dirt, and hidden by his hair. She looked back at his eyes, peering closely, then declared firmly, "Well, if you're Harry Potter, then your parents were definitely our kind. Wait here."

And with that, she turned and darted between the bookshelves and out of sight. Harry stood completely still for a moment, then started to gather up the books he wanted, intending to buy them and leave as soon as possible.

He hadn't taken more than two steps toward the front when the girl returned, now holding two books.

"Here." She said, and herded him neatly onto a chair at a little table nearby. "I found these."

She set the two tomes on the table, and Harry looked them over, curious despite his nerves. The girl started flipping through the large black one that was embossed with the title 'Nature's Nobility, A wizarding genealogy', while Harry looked over the slightly smaller brown one, called '_G_reatest Wizarding Names of the Twentieth Century'.

His breath started coming faster, and his hands trembled on the tabletop. Did one of these books hold his parents' names? Or information about his family?

"Here it is!" The girl exclaimed, drawing Harry's attention back to her. She pushed the wizarding genealogy book toward him, and pointed at the page she had it open to. "Look, there they are."

Peering closely at the page in order to read it, Harry found a tree belonging to a wizarding family called the Blacks. One of them, Dorea Black, had married Charlus Potter. Heart pounding at the familiar last name, Harry followed Charlus Potter's line to his brother, Fleamont Potter, and Fleamont's son James Potter, and James' son... Harry James Potter, born July 31st, 1980. There was no mistaking it, Harry thought. That was his birthday and name, though he hadn't known he had a middle name.

James Potter was his father, and he had the man's name as part of his own. And his mother... he found her connected to James by a little gold line: Lily Potter nee Evans (muggleborn).

"Your dad came from a long line of wizards, and since both his grandparents were magical he was what we call a pureblood." The girl explained when Harry didn't say anything. "Your mum, Lily Potter, had muggle parents, so she was a muggleborn. And since you only have one set of magical grandparents, that makes you a halfblood."

She pushed the brown book toward him then, open to one of the last chapters, and her voice became quieter. "Here. This is how I knew your name. How every witch and wizard in Britain knows your name."

Tearing his eyes reluctantly away from his parents' and family's names, he looked at the chapter title of the other book and was struck dumb.

_Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived._

_'I'm... in a book.' _His mind went completely blank, and all he could do was keep reading.

_Arguably the most famous British wizard of the twentieth century is Harry James Potter, last of the House of Potter. At the age of one year and three months, he became the very first person to survive a direct attack from the Dark Wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a man (or monster) responsible for thirty-one years of muggle, muggleborn, and wizarding killings, tortures, and disappearances from 1950 to 1981 (see ch. 17)._

_To this day, it is unclear exactly what happened, but Ministry experts from both the Auror Office and the Department of Mysteries examined the scene and pieced together the official report._

_The Potters, like many families opposing the Dark Lord, had gone into hiding. While Lord Potter continued to attend work at the Auror Office, his wife and child remained in an unknown location, protected by many wards and enchantments. The most powerful of these enchantments was the Fidelius Charm, a tricky bit of very powerful magic that will make a location a secret none will be able to uncover, even if they stood outside the house itself. The only way to find a place hidden by this charm is to be told its location by the Secret Keeper, the witch or wizard chosen to keep the knowledge of the hidden location._

_The Potter's Secret Keeper was Sirius Black (see Death Eaters, ch. 18), a man the Potters believed to be their friend. However, Black was a Death Eater spy, and he used his position as Secret Keeper to reveal the Potter's hidden home to his master, the Dark Lord._

_And so it was, on Halloween night 1981, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named passed through the Fidelius Charm and other wards surrounding the Potters' property. Lord Potter was killed by the Killing Curse in the family's living room after a fierce duel, and Lily Potter was struck down by the same curse in front of her son's crib. But when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named tried to kill the youngest Potter, he failed and was, miraculously, destroyed._

_Based on the evidence left behind, it is believed that the Killing Curse (found to be the last spell cast by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's wand) rebounded when it struck the Potter child and hit its caster instead. There was an immense magical backlash that blasted a hole in the roof and walls of the room, and broke all the spells on the property (everything from temperature monitoring charms, to the Fidelius). Harry Potter remained miraculously alive, but was left with an auspicious cut in the exact shape of a bolt of lightning on his forehead._

_Before the authorities arrived on the scene, Harry Potter was removed from the wreckage of his home under the authority of one Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the Wizzengamot, ect. ect._

_The only official record of that night that was not sealed by the Auror Office or the Department of Mysteries comes from Dumbledore himself, who gave an interview in the Daily Prophet and addressed the public. His words were a confirmation of the rumors that had spread from the Aurors to their friends and family since it was discovered that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had vanished._

_Below is a copy of the Daily Prophet's extra edition published in the early hours of November the 1st, 1981:_

_Daily Prophet: Extra Edition, November 1st 1981_

_You-Know-Who Vanquished at Last! Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived?_

_By Nicolas Knockby_

_It is with great joy that this reporter pens these words. For decades, magical Britain has been engaged in a horrific war that nearly brought the country to its knees. Witches and wizards lived daily in constant fear and oppression, forced to hide their bloodlines and deny their beliefs._

_But no more!_

_The Daily Prophet was visited before the dawn of this morning by Albus Dumbledore, who brought with him the news that so many of us had longed to hear: He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was defeated._

_Here is an account of this author's unforgettable experience:_

_Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederacy of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and holder of the Order of Merlin, First Class, enters the dark lobby of the Daily Prophet at 12:57am. With tired movements, he sits down before me and the Chief Editor, Charles Charlemagne, but as he tells the wizarding world this miraculous tale, his eyes shine with joy._

_"Earlier this very night, nearly three hours ago in fact," Dumbledore begins, "Voldemort visited the home of the Potters."_

_(Lord James Potter worked as an Auror in the Ministry, and his wife, Lily Potter, was pursuing a Mastery of Charms. Their only child is a son named Harry, a year old last July)_

_"Lily Potter, being the prodigy in charms that she was," here Dumbledore smiles fondly, "cast the Fidelius Charm over her family's home, and assigned her husband's closest friend, Sirius Black, as Secret Keeper_

_"Alas, the Potter's trust in their friend was misplaced. Voldemort found the Potter's home, an impossible feat unless the Secret Keeper betrayed the secret._

_"James Potter engaged Voldemort in a ferocious duel the living room, but was tragically struck down. Voldemort then ascended the stairs and entered the nursery of the Potter's son, Harry. There, Lily Potter stood between the dark wizard and her child, but she, like her husband and so many others, was killed._

_"Voldemort then turned his wand on the youngest, and last, Potter, intending, I believe, to finish off the line forever. But," and this reporter can testify to witnessing the tears in the eyes of the venerated old wizard as he finishes his tale._

_"The curse Voldemort used to attempt to snuff out the last of the Potter rebounded upon its caster. Harry was left with a scar on his forehead in the shape of a bolt of lightning, and Voldemort was conquered."_

_Dumbledore pauses before concluding, in a quiet and sober tone, "I do not know why Voldemort's curse failed to kill Harry Potter. But I am overjoyed that the war is finally over."_

_Dumbledore then explains that he has taken Harry Potter to a safe location, and assures everyone that the young survivor will be protected and out of the public eye until his first year attending Hogwarts._

_The war is over. Voldemort is gone._

_Thank you, Harry Potter._

_All this author can add is his own thanks to Harry Potter._

Finished, Harry sat as though he were carved from stone.

"Is this true?" He asked, and his voice sounded distant.

The girl nodded, watching him closely. "Yes. You survived the Killing Curse, you stopped You-Know-Who, and every witch and wizard in Britain knows your name."

Harry said nothing, merely sat in silence. He felt as if he should be sad, or scared, or even angry, but all he felt was numb.

It was surreal. He was famous. His name and past was in this book. His parents had been betrayed by their friend. They had been murdered by an evil wizard. Murdered. Not killed in a car crash.

Unconsciously, he reached up and touched his forehead. The strange scar he'd always had... it came from the night his parents had died. It wasn't simply an oddity anymore. It was a physical reminder of everything he'd lost... everything that man had taken from him.

"Astoria!"

The girl jumped up and glanced toward the front of the store. "Sorry, my sister's calling me. It was nice to meet you Harry Potter."

Automatically, he stood up as well and bowed to the girl - Astoria.

"It was nice to meet you. Thank you for explaining everything to me. And for the books."

"Oh!" For some reason Astoria had turned pink, and she executed a hasty curtsy. "No problem. Um... bye!"

She darted away, leaving Harry behind with a stack of books, his parents' names, and a world that had been completely turned upside down.

It took an hour to come to terms with the fact that he was not only the son of a witch and wizard, but that he had survived a murder attempt as a baby, and had apparently defeated an evil wizard.

_Did I... kill him?_ The thought made Harry's stomach turn. Was he a murderer? How had he survived? Why hadn't his parents? Why had their friend betrayed them? Was the green light that haunted his nightmares part of that night? Was the woman's scream he heard in his dreams sometimes... his mother?

He didn't know. But he decided that laying low was a good idea. It had kept him out of trouble at school and at the Dursleys (usually), and he hoped the same would work here. As long as he kept his scar hidden (which wasn't a problem given how long his bangs were and how dirty he usually was), no one would know he was Harry Potter.

With this decided, and resolutely ignoring the hard knot of anxiety in his stomach, Harry gripped his bag with both hands and darted through the crowded street toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. He pushed open the door, then jumped as a bell rang and a squat little witch with a rosy face came to greet him.

"Yes, dear? What can I help you with?"

"Er..." Harry cleared his throat, resisting the urge to flatten his bangs over his forehead. Staying unnoticed was much easier when he didn't know he was famous. "I... I need robes... for Hogwarts."

"Oh?" The witch gave him a quick look up and down, before asking, "First year, dearie?"

Harry nodded and she laughed a bit. "You're so small, I thought for sure you were here for an older sibling or something. Well, we'll get you fixed up. Come this way."

She led him to the back where a pale, blonde boy much taller than him was standing on a stool being measured. The rosy faced witch pointed to an empty stool, and Harry stepped onto it before she could speak. She beamed at him, and pulled out her wand.

"Well dearie, if you'd set your bag down, I can start measuring."

Nodding again, Harry slid his bag off his shoulder and set it gently by the stool. The witch flicked her wand, and a measuring tape appeared, whizzing about his body taking measurements as she took notes on a parchment.

"Hogwarts too?"

Harry looked up, surprised that the other boy was addressing him. He nodded, and the blonde kept talking.

"Know which house you want?"

Harry had thought about this ever since he'd read about the house system in _Hogwarts, a History_. Grateful to have something other than evil wizards and Secret Keepers to think about, he answered with more eagerness than he would usually. "Er, yes. I'd like to be in... in Slytherin or Hufflepuff."

The other boy's eyebrow went up. "That's an odd pair. Usually if you want Slytherin, Ravenclaw is a good second. Why Hufflepuff?"

"Um." Harry tried to put it into words. "Well, I know I'm a hard worker... and having friends would be great. Slytherin is good too, because I can find people there who are... well, like me."

"Like you?" The blonde's other eyebrow joined the first high on his forehead. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Now that he was explaining it, Harry felt a little more confident. "Slytherin is for people who act one way, but think another because they have to to get what they want. People call them bad, but I think that's because Slytherins do more than others to get what they want."

"I see." The blonde was now looking at Harry with an appraising gaze, taking in everything from his torn and ragged muggle clothes to his dirt stained hands and face. "Forgive me, but you don't seem the ambitious type."

"I'm not really." Harry agreed readily. He didn't have big dreams or anything. He just wanted... well, he wanted a place to call home. "I just... I want people who I can help and who will help me."

There was a beat of silence which Harry broke, worried the other boy would decide to leave. "What house do you want?"

"Slytherin." the blonde said immediately, "I can see your point about Hufflepuff, but I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with you about it being a good second to Slytherin. Personally, I think Hufflepuff is too... relaxed for me."

"Would Ravenclaw be your second choice, then?" asked Harry, delighted to be talking to a boy (wizard!) his age.

The blonde nodded. "Both my parents were in Slytherin, but I think they'd be proud of a Ravenclaw son as well. What about yours?"

"Oh..." Harry's face fell, but he quickly squashed down the turmoil this question brought up. "Both my parents are dead, but they were in Gryffindor together." He'd discovered that in the copy of _Nature's Nobility _that he'd bought earlier.

"Gryffindor parents?" The blonde's nose wrinkled in an admirable sniff of disdain, "And you want Slytherin?"

Harry shrugged, having read a bit about the rivalry between the two houses. "I don't think I'm brave enough to qualify for Gryffindor. I tend to look out for myself before looking out for others."

Truthfully, he'd never had to look out for another person before. And he was more worried than he wanted to admit at the thought of entering a house his parents wouldn't have liked. But then, he didn't know them so he didn't know if they'd be proud of a Slytherin son or not.

"Hm." The boy bowed suddenly and introduced himself, "I'm Draco Malfoy."

Harry returned the gesture, glad he'd practiced, but wishing it was as elegant as Malfoy's bow. "I'm... Harry..."

He didn't want to tell this boy that he was Harry Potter. He didn't know exactly what would change, but he knew the blonde would treat him differently.

"Harry..." Malfoy prompted, waiting for Harry to finish, but Harry shook his head.

"I'm just Harry."

Again, Malfoy looked him up and down, this time glancing at Harry's bag as well. "I don't think you're 'just' anyone."

Harry shrugged, his mouth going a bit dry. "I try to be. I don't like drawing attention."

Before Malfoy could say anything else, the rosy faced witch who'd been taking Harry's measurements spoke up. "That's you done, dearie. We'll finish altering your robes in an hour or so. Would you like to come back and pick them up, or would you like us to owl them to you?"

"I'll pick them up, thank you." Harry said quickly, picturing an owl swooping through Aunt Petunia's kitchen window and dropping a brown paper package in front of his cupboard door. Even though the Dursleys were gone, having owls swooping in and out of the house seemed like pushing his luck.

"And what name will you be picking them up under?" She asked, with a mischievous grin. "'Just Harry'?"

Harry nodded sheepishly. "Yeah. 'Just Harry'."

He hopped off his stool, picked up his bag, and handed the shop lady money for his uniform set after he'd asked for the price (3 galleons and 16 sickles).

Turning to say goodbye to Malfoy, Harry was surprised to see that the blonde had also stepped off his stool and was tugging on a set of robes he had probably worn in.

"My mother is up the street looking at wands." Malfoy informed him, "And my father is looking at broomsticks. We're going to meet up at Eyelop's if you want to come."

"Oh!" Surprised and pleased that he was being invited somewhere (for the first time!), Harry nodded. "That'd be nice. I need to send a letter, so I was going to go to Eyelop's anyway."

"Great!" Malfoy led the way, and Harry followed him out of the robe shop. Once in the street, Malfoy strode off with a confident gait that seemed to cut straight through the crowds. Harry had to nearly jog to keep up with the taller boy, but they reached Eyelop's quickly.

Standing by the door was a man that was clearly Malfoy's father. Tall, with the same blond hair and pale face, he wore dark robes with silver linings, and gripped a cane with a silver snake's head at the top.

"Father." Malfoy greeted the older man with a bow, then turned to indicate Harry. "This is Harry. I met him in Madam Malkin's just now and, as he has a letter to send, he accompanied me here. Harry, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy"

Harry met the senior Malfoy's cool gray gaze and bowed with as much grace as he could manage. "It's nice to meet you, Lord Malfoy."

"And it's good to meet any friend of Draco's." Lord Malfoy gave Harry a small bow in return before raising an eyebrow in an expression of curiosity identical to his son's earlier. "Does Harry have a surname?"

"None that he would tell me." To Harry's surprise, the younger Malfoy was actually grinning. "He's 'Just Harry' apparently."

"Really?" Lord Malfoy seemed intrigued, which made Harry hide a wince. This was backfiring. Hiding his last name was supposed to give him more anonymity, not attract people's attention.

"Draco, Lucius." All three males turned to see a tall woman with long dark hair gliding toward them.

"Cissy." Lord Malfoy greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. "Come, meet Draco's new friend."

As Lady Malfoy looked at Harry he was surprised to see real warmth in her eyes, though her expression was neutral. She held out a hand, and he stepped forward to kiss it.

"Such a little gentleman." She murmured as he stepped back. "I'm Narcissa Malfoy."

"It's lovely to meet you, Lady Malfoy. I'm just Harry."

She turned to her son with raised brows. "'Just Harry', Draco?"

"Isn't he interesting?" Draco asked excitedly, becoming decidedly less formal in front of his mother. Harry ducked his head with a blush as Lady Malfoy's warm blue eyes returned to him.

Frantically searching for something to say, he stammered, "Er... I have a... a letter to send, so... your son asked if I'd join him."

"Call me Draco, Just Harry." The youngest Malfoy was smiling openly now, and Harry felt himself relaxing a bit.

"Well, we don't want to prevent you from completing your errands." Lord Malfoy opened the door and bowed his wife inside, adding, "We're here to purchase an owl for Draco, so we'll join you inside."

Draco and Harry followed Lord Malfoy into the slightly loud, slightly smelly owl emporium. The Malfoys headed over to the cages of owls on display, and Harry turned to the counter.

"Excuse me." He got the attention of one of the assistants nearby, and pulled out his response letter for Hogwarts. "I'd like to send a letter."

"Alrigh'" The young man whistled, and a large tawny owl swooped down from the rafters and perched on a stand by the counter. "Price's by distance, so where're you sending that letter to?"

"Hogwarts."

"Kay, that's abou' five 'undred forty miles... so at one knut for ten miles..." The assistant consulted a page in a worn leather book open on the counter in front of him, then nodded decisively.

"That'll be 1 galleon, 16 sickles, and 6 knuts."

Harry couldn't follow that math, even though he was more familiar with wizarding currency, so he couldn't say if that price was fair or not. However he didn't really have another option. He'd like an owl of his own (having a pet was something he'd always wanted), but there was no way he could keep one at the Dursleys and he didn't know how to take care of one anyway.

So he handed the required amount to the assistant, followed by his letter, and watched as the young man tied it quickly to the leg of the tawny owl.

"Hogwarts, you." The man instructed and the owl took off at once, swooping out an open window above the door.

"Thank you." Harry called as the assistant turned to another customer.

Harry faced the inside of the store, looking for the Malfoys. They were coming toward the counter, and Draco was proudly bearing a cage that housed an enormous and haughty looking eagle owl.

As his father spoke to the man at the register, Draco grinned at Harry. "What do you think? He's magnificent isn't he? I'm going to call him Mercury, after the Roman god of messages."

Harry eyed the newly named Mercury, wondering if it was his imagination or if the owl was eyeing him arrogantly. He decided it wasn't his imagination as Mercury huffed, ruffled his feathers, and turned his back to Harry.

"Er..." Harry glanced back to Draco. "He seems... regal."

"He is!" Draco exclaimed, either missing or ignoring his owl's actions. "What about you? Do you have an owl?"

"No." Harry shook his head. "I've got no place to keep one, even if I did." And no one to write to, he added silently.

"They don't have to stay inside." Draco looked around at the owls on display, and Harry suddenly felt like Draco was getting carried away.

"I don't need an owl." He said quickly, but Draco just scoffed.

"Of course you do. Every wizard needs an owl." He eyed the store again, but was interrupted as his father finished paying.

"Come, Draco. We'll go look at broomsticks, now."

"Father, Harry doesn't have an owl." Draco looked first at his father, then shot his mother a pleading look. "I'd like to help him choose one."

The Malfoy couple exchanged a look, then Lady Malfoy nodded to Draco. "If Harry accepts your help, then we'll stay a bit longer."

Draco swiveled to face Harry, and Harry couldn't help a grin at the pleading expression on Draco's face. He was clearly used to getting what he wanted, but he made his arrogance seem... charming.

"Fine." Harry could tell he wasn't getting out of this. Maybe he could just release the owl once the Malfoys left. "Please help me find an owl."

At once, Draco grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him toward the back of the store. Harry managed to disguise his flinch with a stumble as he was quickly dragged off.

"Here." Draco dropped Harry's arm to gesture to the wall. "Pick one that stands out to you. A wizard and his owl must be compatible, so choose one that makes you feel... right."

Not understanding what Draco was talking about, Harry let his eyes wander the dozens of owls in cages, on perches, and in the rafters. Barn owls, great gray owls, burrowing owls, great horned owls - there was no end to them. Many hooted down at him, though several promptly turned their backs, and a few ignored him entirely.

"I don't see... a..." Harry trailed off, a flash of white catching his eye. High above his head, a blurry figure soared in a circle, coming lower all the time. With a woosh and a soft hoot, a large, white snowy owl landed on an empty stand in front of him.

She - and he just knew she was female - blinked large amber eyes at him slowly. He stared back at her, entranced. Her eyes were sparkling with intelligence, and she gave a soft coo when he stretched his hand out toward her. Stroking her breast feathers gently with his knuckles, he understood what Draco meant by an owl feeling 'right'.

"Her." He whispered, and she fluttered into the air and onto his shoulder. Turning to grin at Draco, he repeated himself. "Her. She's the one."

"She's quite lovely, Harry." Lady Malfoy had come up behind them and was now smiling down at Harry's new owl. "Do you have a name for her?"

"Hedwig." Harry didn't know where the name had come from - perhaps a book he'd flipped through - but he knew it was right when the owl churred and nipped his ear a bit.

"Great!" Draco looked like he wanted to drag Harry across the store again, but he looked at Hedwig and thought better of it. "Come on, let's go to the counter."

Feeling as though he was in some wonderful dream, Harry counted out 2 galleons and 15 sickles and handed them to the cashier. He left the shop with his very first birthday present on his shoulder, and a box of owl treats under his arm. Looking into her amber eyes again, he knew he wouldn't be able to let her go. Maybe he could convince her to stay on Privet Drive, or at least in Surrey.

This really was the best one he'd had. He'd found out his parents' names, his own middle name, had gotten a beautiful owl that would hopefully be his friend, and met the Malfoys, who were really nice.

_'Happy birthday to me,'_ he thought with a smile.

"Come on, Harry!" Draco bounced in front of Harry, his excited demeanor at complete odds with the formal, composed boy Harry had met in Madam Malkins. "Broomsticks!"

A bell tolled somewhere, and Harry felt his blood run cold. It was four in the afternoon. It was also Tuesday.

Every Tuesday, the family from Number 3 Privet Drive went on a late afternoon run, returning anytime between 4 and 5. If he was seen coming into the house from the street while the Dursleys were gone, Missus Number 3 would be sure to tell Aunt Petunia.

It would be forty minutes by bus to get back to Surrey, and another five by foot to get to Privet Drive. He might already be too late, but he couldn't waste another minute. If the Dursleys ever found out he'd left the house without permission... he didn't want to think about it.

"I can't, Draco." He stepped back, glancing toward the Leaky Cauldron and mapping out the fastest route through the crowds of shoppers. "I'm sorry, but I've got to get back. I've already been here too long."

"Surely your family can spare you for another hour or so?" Lady Malfoy asked, concern etched between her brows. Lord Malfoy merely looked sharply at Harry, who felt as though the man saw through right through him.

Taking another step back, he shook his head. "I can't, I'm sorry. I'm... expected. Thank you for everything, though."

Making a quick bow to the family, he spun around and bolted. Hedwig hooted indignantly as she was dislodged from her spot on his shoulder, but he couldn't stop. Through the crowds, into the back alley, through the pub, and back into muggle London. He pounded down the streets, coming to a halt at the bus stop just as the bus opened its doors.

The whole ride he was on tenterhooks, bouncing up and down in his seat, his panic rising with every red light that stopped them. He realized halfway that he hadn't picked up his Hogwarts robes. He tried not to think about Hedwig soaring around Diagon Alley looking for him.

They finally reached Surrey and he bolted out the doors. Down the street, past the park, and onto Privet Drive. To his horror, the neighbor family's car was already in the drive of Number 3.

Not slowing at all, he bolted up the drive and around the house, wiggled through the gap between the fence and the house, and sprinted to the back porch. As he set his hand on the doorknob to enter, he glanced at Number 3 and froze. The mum was looking at him from her kitchen window. She must have seen his mad dash to the house and him slipping through the gap in the fence.

His stomach felt as though it had been turned to lead and it sank heavily. Entering the Dursleys' house, Harry locked the back door then slid to the ground.

He'd been seen. The Dursleys would surely know he'd left the house.

Moving slowly, he stood and trudged to his cupboard. Collapsing on his cot, he closed his eyes and tried to bring up all the bright, happy memories of his two magical trips to Diagon Alley.

_'Lady Greengrass' smiles, his parents' names written above his own, the Malfoy family, Hedwig...'_

He was suddenly very tired... his legs shook from his frantic run... and he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten... or washed... he was alone... his parents had been killed... why had he survived?!... everyone knew his name... everyone would be looking at him... watching him...

Involuntarily, he curled up into a ball and tears streamed down his face as he began to cry silently.

_'Everything hurts... I'm hungry... I'm lonely... I want Hedwig... or Lady Greengrass' smile... or... I... I... I want to go home!'_

This last thought had him pressing his face into his blanket to muffle his sobs. He wanted somewhere he could go when he was hurt or sad or tired. He wanted someplace where he'd be safe and happy.

He wanted a home.

**-Line Break-**

It was four more days before he decided to sneak off to Diagon Alley again. The Dursleys wouldn't be back for another two days, and he'd already been seen outdoors once. What would once more matter?

Despite this bravado, Harry left Privet Drive very early in the morning. Everyone (specifically Missus Number 3) was sleeping in because it was Sunday, so he was able to get away unseen.

Once turned the corner and left Privet Drive, he sprinted the rest of the way to the bus stop. Reaching it, he waited impatiently, bouncing on his heels with a heady mixture of excitement and tension. Would the Malfoys be there again? Would Lady Greengrass?

A hoot and the rustle of wings got his attention and he turned to stare in disbelief at the snowy owl perched on the bench behind him.

"Hedwig!" He cried, going to her and stroking her feathers. She hooted once, then nipped his fingers reprovingly.

"I know, I'm sorry I left you behind." Harry stuck his hand into his bag before realizing that he'd dropped the owl treats when he'd run out of the Alley last time. Sighing, he stroked the white feathers in apology.

"Look, I don't have anyplace to keep you. You can go wherever you want."

She barked once and glared at him. Fancifully, Harry imagined her saying 'Foolish human, if I wanted to leave I would have already'.

"Well, thanks for staying." Harry stroked her feathers once more, then stepped away. "Just stay out of sight. I don't want you getting hurt."

She barked once, then took off as the bus pulled up.

When Harry got to the Leaky Cauldron forty minutes later, he darted through the pub, followed a wizard through the brick archway, and entered Diagon Alley. Thrilled at being back again, Harry sprinted straight to Madam Malkin's and ducked inside, hoping against hope they would let him buy his school robes even though he hadn't picked up his order on time.

He spotted the rosy cheeked witch who had taken his measurements last time and nerves suddenly bloomed in his stomach as he stepped toward her quietly.

"Er... excuse me ma'am."

She turned around and her eyes widened as they fell on him. "Well, if it isn't Just Harry!" She beamed, but then shook her finger at him with a frown. "You're a bit late to be picking up your order."

Harry winced and nodded, directing his gaze to his dirty, hole filled trainers. "I know ma'am, and I'm sorry. I... couldn't come before now."

"It's alright, I was only teasing you."

He looked up to see that the smile had returned to her face, and he relaxed a bit. She turned and bustled away, tossing a 'wait a moment' over her shoulder as she went. So Harry waited where he was until she came back, bearing a rather large, paper wrapped package.

"Three sets of Hogwarts robes, five uniform shirts and pairs of trousers, and three ties. All yours, dearie."

Reverently, Harry took the package. Clothes for him. _Just_ for him, not Dudley's first!

"Thank you." It came out as a whisper, but the lady just smiled kindly.

"You're very welcome. You have a good day now, alright?"

Nodding, Harry tucked his clothes (wrapped like a present!) into his bag and stepped out of the store.

His stomach tied itself into knots as he realized he had one last purchase to make: a magic wand. He hadn't worked up the nerve to get one on his last two visits. What if he was kicked out of the shop? What if they said there'd been a mistake and that he wasn't going to Hogwarts?

Shaking his head and shoving his doubts away, he took a deep breath and stepped slowly toward the dusty old shop that was Olivander's: Makers of fine wands since 382 B.C.


	4. Chapter 4

Normal

"Speaking"

_'Thinking'_

_Writing_

Chapter 4

_'I think we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter.'_

Ollivander's creaky voice echoed in Harry's mind as he left the dusty shop, holding his new wand close to his chest.

_'After all, You-Know-Who did great things too. Terrible, yes, but great.'_

Shivering involuntarily, Harry slipped into the shadow of a shop window and examined his (_his!_) wand. The handle was brown and rough, like the bark of a tree, but the body was smooth and dark red. It was eleven inches long, made of holly, and had a phoenix feather core.

_'It is curious that you should be destined for this wand, while it's brother gave you that scar.'_

He didn't know if brother wands were rare or not, but he didn't like that his wand had anything in common with the wand that had killed his parents. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate it. Even now the wand thrummed against his palm, and Harry could almost feel its eagerness to be used. It felt like an extension of himself - a very cheerful, very powerful extension - but himself nonetheless. It was like... this wand was everything he could become.

**-Line Break-**

When Missus Number 3 delightedly informed Aunt Petunia about Harry's misdeeds while the Dursleys had been away, his aunt had been livid. She'd shrieked at him, telling him that he was a horrible, ungrateful little boy and that she'd done her best to set him straight. Each insult hurt, as they always did, but Harry had learned to ignore the pain, focusing instead on appearing as sorry as possible. This did no good when Aunt Petunia discovered the twenty pounds missing from her jewelry case.

Aunt Petunia had gone white with rage, seemingly unable to form sentences, so Uncle Vernon had dragged Harry to the cupboard and thrown him in, locking the door behind him. Harry's shoulder had ached, but he'd counted himself lucky that neither his aunt nor his uncle had thrown anything at him.

Now, he had reached three weeks and two days of his latest punishment, and the Aunt Petunia showed no signs of ever letting him out again, besides his morning and evening bathroom visits. He kept track of the days with tick marks on the wall beneath his birthday cake, counting down to September the 1st, which was represented by a wand and wizard hat. That morning, he added the last mark to the wall and drew a circle around the wand and hat.

Tomorrow was September the 1st. Tomorrow, he'd leave the Dursleys and go to a school for magic!

Harry woke very early the next morning, as he always did. The tiny, scratched, battery powered clock that ticked by his head said that it was half past five. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wouldn't be up for another hour and a half, and Dudley never got up before nine. Shuffling around quietly, Harry pulled on his trainers and coat, and pulled his (_magic!_) bag out from where he'd hidden it among the cleaning supplies.

A few years ago, Dudley had been playing with a lighter and had burnt his finger, dropping the lighter on the hallway carpet, which caught quickly and sent smoke spiraling into the air. Harry had been in the cupboard at the time, and had smelled the smoke. That was the first time he'd ever been afraid for his life. There was no way to escape a fire from inside his locked cupboard, and he knew the Dursleys wouldn't save him, so he'd spent weeks practicing hooking a wire through the slits that let light and air into his cupboard, and pulling the latch to unlock the door.

Now, that skill allowed him to easily unlock and open his cupboard door. Silently closing the door behind him, Harry scanned the hall quickly, listening to the sounds of the house. No one was awake but him. Moving carefully, he slipped into the kitchen and laid a folded letter on the table. It was addressed to Aunt Petunia, and he'd written to explain that he was going to a boarding school until the end of June. He made no mention of magic, or the name of the school, but he did point out that as long as he attended, he'd be gone nearly ten months of the year and when he turned seventeen he didn't have to come back at all.

In all honesty, Harry didn't know if the Dursleys would even let him come back that summer, but he found that he didn't really care. He was sure he could find _somewhere_ to live for two months each summer before going back to Hogwarts.

Heart pounding, and feeling irrationally giddy, Harry eased the front door open and stepped onto the porch. He closed the door as silently as possible, then ran down the drive, turned sharply, and sprinted down the street. He held in the urge to whoop, but he grinned wildly as he ran, putting as much distance as possible between Number 4 and himself.

He didn't stop until he'd reached the bus stop, then collapsed on a bench, gasping for breath. His gasped turned to giggles, and he couldn't stop his laughter. He was out! He was free! He was going to a school for wizards! He was going to do _magic_! Calming a bit, though hiccuping now, Harry hugged his bag and grinned at nothing. He couldn't wait.

**-Line Break-**

At 10:21am, September the 1st, 1991, a small boy with unruly black hair and vibrant green eyes entered Kings Cross Station. He was unaccompanied, carried only a weathered looking messenger bag, and as he moved silently through the crowds, heads turned to follow his progress. Though the boy's clothes were dirty and ragged, held together only by what looked like string and willpower, and though his face, arms, and hands were grubby and his hair slightly matted, what captured the attention of passersby was the magnificent snowy owl perched comfortably on the boy's left shoulder. The owl wore no hood, no tether was attached to its leg, and there was no indication of it being anything other than a wild animal.

All together, passersby gave the tiny boy a wide berth, thinking him odd, dirty, or even feral.

Harry was keenly aware of the looks he was attracting. The only thing preventing him from reflexively hunching his shoulders and ducking his head was his first ever present and favorite person, Hedwig. Her weight and warmth were comforting, and she would coo, warble, and click her beak regularly, assuring him that he was not alone.

Raising a hand to brush her shining feathers, Harry relaxed a bit and cast his gaze about the station.

_'Platform 9 3/4... the wall between platforms 9 and 10... I hope.'_

Relief flooded Harry as he spotted the pillar between muggle platforms 9 and 10, and he hurried forward excitedly. A yard from the bricks, he slowed and extended a hand in front of him. His books had said that you just had to walk straight at the wall here to get to the right platform, but Harry didn't want to break his nose. Moving forward carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers across the bricks.

His fingers disappeared into the brick, and he yanked them back quickly. Watching closely, he slowly placed his palm against the bricks. There was a brief resistance, then his hand disappeared, leaving his arms sticking out of what looked like a solid brick wall. Encouraged, he stepped forward and slid right through the wall and onto Platform 9 3/4.

On the other side, Harry couldn't help staring. Dominating the scene was a spectacular scarlet steam engine, proudly commanding the attention of everyone who entered the station. It was beautiful, with pure white steam billowing out of the top, and owls swooping here and there around it.

Harry suddenly realized he was standing in the open, and moved to stand between a bench and a pillar, glancing around as he scanned people and marked escape routes.

The platform was not overly crowded, though the chattering of the families and children that filled the air made it seem as though twice as many people were there. As in Diagon Alley, the majority of adults were wearing robes, while the children wore an assortment of items closer in style to non-magicals.

Along the wall at the end of the station, Harry spotted several enormous fireplaces, and watched several figures flame into the station and brush soot off their robes.

_'The floo.'_ Harry remembered from his books. Idly, he wished he could have used the Dursleys fireplace to get here instead of catching the bus and then wandering around London. Then he pictured Uncle Vernon's purple face and quickly changed his mind.

The noise level in the station suddenly increased as several families arrived through the barrier at once. Hedwig barked in annoyance, and Harry had to agree. The noise made it difficult to pay attention to his surroundings. He moved quickly and quietly through the crowd, glad once again that his small size allowed him to do.

"Gran... Gran, I've lost my toad again."

Harry looked toward the closest voice automatically, and stopped abruptly. The voice belonged to a young boy about his age, with short black hair, a slightly pudgy figure, and wearing robes that hung awkwardly over his shoulders.

Something in the boy's eyes caught Harry's attention, and he looked closer, frowning. His breath caught at the sadness, loneliness, fear, and sheer desperation filling the deep brown eyes. He recognized that look. It was the same look he saw every time he looked in the mirror.

_'Why does he look so sad?'_

Forcing his feet to move, Harry kept walking, turning his head to keep the boy in view as he did so. He found himself wanting to help that boy, though he had no idea how. He watched the sad boy being ushered onto the train by his severe looking grandmother. She didn't hug him, merely said something that made him nod miserably, then turned and left.

_'I'm not strong, and I've never tried to help someone before. But, maybe...'_

Continuing his slow walk along the platform, Harry scanned the faces and families around him, on the lookout for any other unusuals. Suddenly his eye was caught by a splash of white. There, standing a little apart from the rest of the people, were the Malfoys.

Harry was too far away to hear what they were saying, but the love between the three was clear, even from this distance. They were more reserved than the families around them, but their bond was strong. Turning away, Harry tried to ignore the pain in his chest. A loving family was not something he'd begrudge anyone, but he'd always wondered what it was like.

"Watch out!"

Immediately, Harry ducked and spun toward the shout, Hedwig taking off to circle in the air above him. Something soared over Harry, exactly where his head had been scant seconds before. His eyes darted around the platform and fixed on the form of three boys jogging toward him. He automatically cringed, remembering Dudley and his gang, and the many, many games of Harry Hunting.

"Sorry 'bout that!" The lead boy stopped in front of Harry with one of his friends. The other circled Harry to retrieve whatever had nearly hit him. Feeling distinctly trapped, Harry backed up a bit, trying to keep all three in his sights.

"Me brother bought a Fanged Frisbee behind Mum's back last week," The boy continued, unaware of Harry's internal panic, "and he thought it'd be a laugh to chuck it here."

"Fanged Frisbee?" Harry repeated, scowling warily at the lime green disk that was snarling in the grip of one of the boys.

"Yeah, sorry." The lead boy shrugged sheepishly, then held out a hand. "I'm Ernie MacMillan. I'm startin' Hogwarts this year."

He missed Harry's trepidation and shook the small boy's hand, then introduced his companions as Justin Finch-Fletchley and Terry Boot, also first years. Once Harry was no longer shaking anyone's hand, Hedwig swooped down to perch gracefully back on her boy's shoulder.

"Nice owl!" Finch-Fletchley grinned, "She looks like a right queen."

Smiling slightly, Harry had to agree. "Yeah, she does."

"Anyway, sorry about the frisbee." MacMillan grinned crookedly, "We'll toss it at me brother next time, yeah?"

Harry's smile widened hesitantly as the others chuckled. From behind them, a woman called, and Boot groaned. "That's my mother. We'd better go... what's your name, anyway?"

"Oh, I'm Harry." Harry said, mentally wincing as he finished, "Harry Potter."

Their reactions weren't quite as bad as he'd thought they would be. Finch-Fletchley and Boot's eyes widened comically, but MacMillan just looked Harry up and down quickly, then nodded in greeting. Before anyone could say anything else, thankfully, Boot's mother called again.

"Well, we'll see you at Hogwarts then, Potter." MacMillan smiled at Harry's answering nod, then turned away. Boot followed after waving briefly, and Finch-Fletchley mirrored him.

_'I really hope the rest of the students are like that.'_

Glancing at the clock, Harry realized he had fifteen minutes before the train left. With one last scan over the sea of black robes and trunks, he clambered somewhat awkwardly onto the train. Looking around, he realized that most students were walking up and down the corridors, looking for their friends. Hopefully that meant there was an empty compartment somewhere. Briefly, Harry wondered if he should look for that sad boy, but a sudden wave of students entering the train quickly changed his mind. He'd rather get out of the crowds now.

Weaving through the throng of students, Harry made his way down the train. Thankfully, Hedwig's presence on his shoulder meant students moved out of his way faster, and he quickly found the first in a series of empty compartments and closed the door behind him. He leaned against the glass and sighed heavily. Hedwig fluttered onto one of the lowered armrests and churred softly at him.

"There's too many people, girl." Harry sat heavily in the window seat by his owl and stroked her back gently. "How'm I supposed to deal being surrounded by people all the time? I hope the school is big enough for me to disappear."

Hedwig barked reproachfully, and Harry grimaced. "Yeah, I know. I don't have to disappear anymore. But still..."

He stared out over the people still milling about on the platform. A large family of redheads in robes suddenly entered through the barrier, and Harry briefly wondered why such an obviously wizarding family hadn't taken the floo.

_'I wonder what people will expect from me._ Harry moved his gaze to the empty seat across from him. _Harry Potter is a famous wizard. People might want to get close to me because of that, and not because of... who I am.'_

He'd read the books he'd gotten on manners and the culture, and had practiced the bows and forms of address. He'd also read each and every one of his school books during the three weeks he'd been locked in his cupboard, as well as a few interesting books on other magical beings and beasts, wizarding history, and magical plants that he'd gotten that weren't on the school list.

_'All this so I can survive this new world.'_

Shaking his head at the dramatic thought, Harry tried to think about something else, something not involving all the expectations he could face. Maybe his classmates wouldn't care that he was the Boy-Who-Lived.

The train lurched suddenly, and Harry watched as the platform slid slowly from view, leaving behind London, the Dursleys, and his cupboard. They picked up speed, and Harry stared out the window as the city disappeared and green hills and countryside came into view. His stomach was a ball of knots. He'd been giddy that morning, but now he was simply scared. What would Hogwarts be like? Would he make any friends? Were the classes hard? Did they send report cards home, like at Harry's old school?

Determined to ignore his churning thoughts, Harry dug through his bag and pulled out Beasts, Beings, and Between: Races you'll run into in Magical Britain, then settled in to read. He'd just reached the chapter on banshees when his compartment door slid suddenly open. Jumping slightly, Harry hid behind his book as he scanned the intruder. Tall and gangly, with a shock of red hair, a smudge of dirt on his nose, and clothes that, while clearly taken care of, had certainly seen better days.

"D'you mind?" The redhead indicated the seats across from Harry. "Everywhere else is full."

Harry shook his head and the redhead sat down.

"I'm Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley." The redhead announced, staring intently at Harry, who, with a sinking heart, realized he had to introduce himself again.

Grimly, he replied. "I'm Harry Potter."

Weasley's eyes widened in awe and shot to Harry's forehead, only to be clouded with disappointment when he realized the famous scar was hidden by Harry's hair.

"Really? Wow!" Weasley seemed impressed, and he leaned forward to ask, "Have you really got... y'know... the scar?"

The last word was said in a whisper, and Harry crushed the urge to pull his knees up in front of him and hide his entire body behind his book. Instead, he hunched his shoulders a bit and replied carefully.

"I do, but I'd rather people not stare at it."

"Huh? Why not?" Weasley frowned in confusion. "It's a really big deal."

"Exactly." Harry replied quietly, not looking at the other boy. He really, really didn't want to talk about this.

"But," Weasley sounded even more confused. "How do people know you're you if they can't see the scar?"

Harry blinked, looking up and meeting Weasley's gaze with a confused expression of his own. "Um... I usually introduce myself to them."

Weasley flushed, but any other comment he may have made was cut off by the compartment door opening again.

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

A kindly faced, middle aged woman was standing behind a trolley of sweets and snacks in the corridor. Weasley scowled at the offer and shook his head, though his eyes lingered on the bright packages.

_'Can you make friends through sweets?'_

Harry wasn't sure he liked the redhead much, but maybe if the boy forgot about Harry being the Boy-Who-Lived, he'd be a good friend. So he set his book aside and approached the trolley.

A while later, Weasley was munching happily on a licorice wand, and Harry was examining a cauldron cake. He wondered if wizards baked them like non-magicals would, or if they used magic to speed up the process or make them taste better. His thoughts were interrupted as the compartment door slid open for the third time. This time the intruder was a bushy haired girl about his age, with sparkling brown eyes, and rather large front teeth.

"Have either of you seen a toad?" Her tone was a bit abrasive, and she scanned the compartment as she talked, rather than looking at either Weasley or Harry. "A boy named Neville's lost one."

A rather short "no" was Weasley's reply, and Harry shook his head. The girl huffed and turned to go, but then spun back abruptly.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

Harry blinked at her abrupt tone, but Weasley didn't seem to notice as he was opening a Chocolate Frog. Realizing that Weasley wasn't going to introduce himself, Harry addressed the girl.

"I'm Harry."

She frowned at him, and her eyes narrowed at the sight of his ragged clothes and dirty hands. "You ought to wash up before we get there. And put on your school robes."

"Ah." Harry was forcibly reminded of Aunt Petunia's sharp commands, but pushed the thought away and nodded to the girl - Granger.

She shot Weasley a slightly superior look, which he didn't notice, then left the compartment. Harry glanced at his redheaded companion, who had turned his attention to a Pumpkin Pastie, then tucked himself behind his book, content to wait out the rest of the ride.

**-Line Break-**

"Firs' years, this way! Firs' years, over 'ere! Firs' years, firs' years!"

Harry got the distinct impression of being a chicken in a jostling crowd, moving toward the farmer calling them. He had sent Hedwig off to the school when he'd exited the train, and somehow he'd gotten separated from Weasley.

"This all the firs' years? Righ' then, follow me!"

The speaker was an enormous man, with a great mass of shaggy black hair, and a massive coat that looked as if it was sewn from the hides of several different mammals. The man's sheer size had Harry taking a quick step back, eyeing the enormous hands warily. They were much bigger than Uncle Vernon's.

Harry tried to disappear into the crowd of students, glancing around nervously. Alone and surrounded, every survival instinct he had was kicking in. He was tense, his heart pounding, eyes constantly scanning the surrounding throng. He flinched each time he was unexpectedly touched, which was quite a lot in a crowd like this.

"Alrigh', 'ere we are."

Harry managed to separate himself from the crowd as they came to a halt beside an enormous lake. Bobbing in the water were several dozen little boats, each with a lantern swinging merrily from the prow.

"No more'n four ter a boat." Was their guide's instruction, before he turned to cram himself into a boat.

Harry glanced around, panic gripping him briefly. He was always the odd one out when his old class had separated into groups. Then he caught sight of Draco Malfoy, and moved forward before his nerves got the better of him.

"Excuse me." Harry said, going for polite, but sounding nervous. "May I sit with you?"

Draco turned around, and grinned as he saw who had spoken. "Just Harry! I wondered when I'd see you here. Come on, I'll introduce you to my friends."

Before Harry could protest, Draco had beckoned two other boys over. One was long limbed and graceful, with dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. The other was smaller, with brown hair and dark blue eyes.

"Harry, this is Blaise Zabini-" Draco indicated the tall, dark boy, "-and Theodore Nott." He gestured to the blue eyed boy. "Blaise, Theo, this is 'Just Harry'. I met him in Diagon Alley a couple weeks ago."

"Just Harry?" Zabini repeated, raising an eyebrow. He had an accent Harry didn't recognize, and stared at him as if he could see right through him. Nervously, Harry glanced at the ground and fiddled with the cuffs of his robes.

"Yep." Draco grinned, "He's a mystery!"

"Which explains why you like him, Draco." Theo extended a hand to Harry. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."

Hesitantly, Harry shook Theo's hand, then followed the other three as they approached the water's edge and selected a boat.

Zabini's movements as he boarded the tiny craft were very elegant, as though this was something he did every day. Draco was just as poised, if not quite so elegant, but Harry and Theo floundered a bit, Harry more so, before finally being securely seated.

There was a beat of silence as the boats began to move on their own, setting a course across the lake, then Draco addressed Harry eagerly.

"What classes are you looking forward to, Harry?

Harry repressed the urge to hunch his shoulders, trying to sit straight like the others.

"Um... I like Charms, and I'm excited to learn about Potions."

"Really?" Draco asked, interestedly, "You know, my godfather is the Potions Professor at Hogwarts. He's the youngest wizard to get a Potions Mastery in the last two hundred years."

"Yeah, yeah, we know." Nott rolled his eyes, then sent Harry a wink. "Draco loves bragging about his godfather. I think he likes him more than he likes his father."

Harry gave a small smile as he watched Draco loudly protest this comment while Nott smirked.

"Do you know which house you'll be in?" Zabini asked quietly, startling Harry.

"Oh... no, not really. I mean," He glanced at Draco and Nott, noticing that they were listening to him now as well. "I think I'd like Slytherin or Hufflepuff, but I guess we'll go where we're supposed to."

"You'd be happy with any of the houses then?" Nott's tone was surprised, and Harry nodded, hastening to explain.

"My father was a Gryffindor," Harry began, thinking back to that wonderful book _Nature's Nobility_ that contained his family tree, "his aunt was a Slytherin, and his cousin was a Hufflepuff. So I think, no matter what house I'm in, my family would be proud of me."

At least, he hoped that was the case.

Silence fell then, but it wasn't awkward. It was contemplative and peaceful, like the dark lake they were sailing across. Then it was broken by a call from up ahead.

"'Ere's the castle! It's somethin' isn't it?"

It really was.

Harry's breath caught as the castle came into view. He knew he was gaping, and that he should pay attention to those around him, but he couldn't do anything to move his gaze away from the sight before him.

The castle was enormous, with thousands of windows glowing gold, and several towers stretching up to touch the starlit sky. The stone walls flowed seamlessly into the cliffside below, where the lake lapped up against the rocks. It was a masterpiece of history, architecture, and magic.

But for all the magnificence of the castle itself, what was holding Harry's attention was the pure feeling surrounding the building. There was a warmth, and a song, and the smell of home, all at once, but not really...real. The warmth slowly filled every part of Harry's being, like what he imagined hot chocolate on a cold day must feel like. He could hear the castle's song, and couldn't quite tell if he imagined the whisper that came to his mind-

_'Welcome, little wizard.'_

Blinking, Harry tore his gaze away from Hogwarts. Nott had said something to get his attention, but Harry hadn't heard what it was. Vaguely, he realized his eyes were full of tears.

"Are you alright?" Draco's gray eyes watched Harry intently.

"She's beautiful." Harry's voice was nearly a whisper, and weighted with what could only be described as reverence.

"Who is?" Nott asked, his confused and slightly wary

Harry looked at each of the boys sitting by him and smiled freely, opening up his heart and letting his wonder and joy, sadness and loneliness, and reverent awe shine out through his bright, green eyes.

"Hogwarts." He replied, "Hogwarts is beautiful."

**-Line Break-**

Harry's eyes were wide as he took in the Great Hall, though he'd at least remembered to close his mouth. The enchanted ceiling was dark blue and speckled with stars, just as the sky outside, and the students were a sea of black cloaks and hats. Candles floated gently in the air, accompanied by the low murmur of voices sounding like small waves lapping at the shore. The severe looking witch who'd brought them in, Professor McGonagall, was standing at the front of the hall, a scroll in one hand, and an ancient wizarding hat in the other. The hat had just finished singing a rather funny song about the different Houses, and Harry wondered if it spent each year making up a new one.

"As I call your names," Professor McGonagall had a carrying voice, with a hint of Scottish brogue, and the students immediately quieted. "you will come up. I will place the Sorting Hat on your head, and you will be Sorted."

She's very respected. Harry realized, and instantly added her name to the list of people to treat politely, but be careful around.

As 'Abbot, Hannah' made her way nervously to the front, Harry studied the staff table, keeping an ear out for his name to be called.

The huge man from the train station was there, his black eyes sparkling cheerfully. Three witches were seated together on the giant's left, and a tiny professor Harry would bet money was at least part goblin sat by a short curvy witch with a friendly demeanor.

"Granger, Hermione." McGonagall called, and Harry pulled his gaze toward the bushy haired girl he'd met on the train. She moved nervously, but quickly to the front of the room where she sat on the stool and allowed the Sorting Hat to be lowered onto her head. After a few tense seconds, the Hat's 'mouth' opened.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped along with the hall as Granger scampered to sit with her newly assigned returned his gaze to the staff table, this time scanning from the right. A witch with a pale complexion was seated on the end, and beside her was an aging wizard missing both an arm and a leg, though he didn't seem bothered in the least about it. By him was a twitchy young man in an odd purple turban whose eyes constantly darted back and forth around the hall.

Cataloguing the man as 'odd and should be watched', Harry continued scanning the table. On the twitchy man's right was a wizard with black, shoulder length hair and a bearing of a noble dignity, especially considering his neighbor. He had an aquiline nose, and sharp black eyes that scanned the room constantly, searching out threats and anything out of the ordinary.

This professor struck Harry as someone very powerful, used to keeping secrets, and resigned to carrying the weight of the world alone. He was not a man to cross or make light of.

"Longbottom, Neville."

Harry looked around and realized that this boy was the sad one he'd seen on the platform. The nervous boy tripped over his robes on the way there, and stumbled clumsily. The students around him snickered, and Harry could see the embarrassed flush on Longbottom's cheeks even from where he stood.

The boy picked himself up, sat on the stool, and his eyes were lost from sight as the Sorting Hat fell over them. Several seconds passed... thirty... a minute... a minute and a half...

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Longbottom stumbled gratefully to his new house and collapsed beside Granger, who patted his back encouragingly.

After two students were Sorted into Hufflepuff, McGonagall called. "Malfoy, Draco."

The blonde moved toward the stool in what was very close to a swagger, radiating arrogant confidence. The hat had barely touched his head before it made its decision.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Harry applauded as Draco headed to the silver and green house. A girl was Sorted into Ravenclaw, then...

"Nott, Theodore."

The boy strode confidently up to the stool and sat down with unhurried movements. A few seconds after the Hat fell over Nott's eyes, the decision was made

"SLYTHERIN!"

Again, Harry applauded, but a twisting sensation was manifesting in his gut. His name was coming up. And then, four names later, it was his turn.

"Potter, Harry."

Harry moved forward slowly as whispers broke out through the Hall.

"Potter-"

"Harry Potter-"

"-thought he'd be taller-"

"-see his scar-"

"-doesn't look like much-"

"-think he'd sign my-"

Finally, Harry reached the stool and clambered onto it. Ten years of little food and regular imprisonment in an enclosed space had left their mark. He was easily the tiniest first year at Hogwarts.

The Hat fell over his eyes and he was suddenly assailed with the not entirely unpleasant smell of dust and leather. When a voice spoke directly into his head, he jumped and nearly toppled off his perch.

_'Good evening, Mr. Potter'_

Heart pounding, Harry tentatively thought back his answer.

_'Um, good evening Mr... Sorting Hat, sir.'_

_'So polite! I've sat on thousands of eleven year old heads, and few were as polite, or as intriguing, as you.'_

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, but the Hat chuckled warmly.

_'Don't fret, Mr. Potter. Just allow me to sort you. Now... let's see...'_

The young boy was then treated to a singularly unusual experience. It felt as though a fishing line was carefully tugging specific memories and thoughts to the forefront of his mind, before something tucked them back into place with surprising gentleness.

_'Hmm... difficult, very difficult... Despite the circumstances surrounding your childhood, you have a pure soul. Not a bad mind either. Ravenclaw would suit your curiosity and nurture your unique talent for magic. Though, you're unafraid to work yourself to the bone for what you want, especially if it's on behalf of someone you care for. That deep loyalty is something Hufflepuff herself was famous for._

_'And speaking of fame, you certainly have that, though it is unwanted. In Slytherin I believe you could do great things, Mr. Potter, both in magicks and politics. The cunning and subtly that house is known for are already second nature to you. But there is something here... something you possess in spades, more so than loyalty, intelligence, or ambition. Courage.'_

What? The Hat's soul (or head?) searching had taken Harry completely off guard. He wanted to be placed where he belonged, but he hadn't really thought of himself as possessing the traits needed for each house, especially not courage. Courage, sir? Are you sure?

_'Oh, absolutely. In fifty years, I've only sat on the heads of two other students that possessed such pure courage and sheer tenacity.'_

_'I... I'm afraid I spend more time being scared than being brave.'_

Unbidden, the countless nights he'd spent curled up in his cupboard came to mind, and the way he flinched around people. Not to mention the gut-wrenching fear that filled his heart at the thought of returning to the Dursleys, of never having friends, of never finding a family...

_'I disagree, child.' _The Hat's 'voice' was gentle, and Harry found himself calming as the Hat continued. '_Gryffindors today are considered loud, reckless, rash, unruly, and stubborn. This is not what courage is. Real courage, true courage, isn't dying in a dramatic or flashy way. It comes from the quiet, unseen choices a person makes._

_'A son left an orphan decides not to wallow in self-pity or sorrow, but to live on._

_'A nephew, imprisoned and ridiculed for being different, gets up every morning and lives in a way that would make his parents proud, even knowing the pain and tears it will cost._

_'A child loses his childhood and is forced to grow up too fast, but chooses to be kind to those around him and give them the time, love, support, and respect he was denied._

_'A schoolboy is bullied and punished for his intelligence, but refuses to cease seeking knowledge and understanding._

_'A survivor is injured and abandoned, but still strives to be strong and to protect those who are unable to protect themselves, as he was._

_'Harry Potter. You possess a quiet, unbreakable courage, like the foundations of this ancient castle. It is this courage that fills your heart and strengthens your resolve into something unshakable. You chose to enter the Wizarding World, even knowing you would face impossible expectations, ridicule, manipulation, pain, mistakes you will be unable to avoid, and even the certainty of your own suffering._

_'What is this, if it is not courage?'_

Silence filled his mind as Harry squeezed his eyes shut and a tear fell down one cheek. The Hat's words filled him with the same warmth, and he made a sudden vow, to himself and the Sorting Hat, that he would live the way the Hat had described. He would be courageous.

_'Thank you, sir.'_

The quiet though rang with sincerity and all the strength the Hat had seen in the soul of the small boy.

_'You are very welcome, Harry.'_

And so, two minutes and forty-two seconds after being placed on Harry Potter's head, the brim of the Sorting Hat opened.

"GRYFFINDOR!"


	5. Chapter 5

Normal

"Speaking"

_'Thinking'_

_Writing_

Chapter 5

It was only luck that got Harry to his first Transfiguration class on time. Finding a classroom he'd never seen before in a castle whose doors, passages, and corridors changed places, length, and appearance on a regular basis was like finding a needle in the proverbial haystack. He had managed to find his way by following the older students and leaving tiny ink x's drawn at the ends of corridors he'd been down already.

Weasley was less lucky. He pelted into the classroom five minutes after the bell, and threw himself into the empty seat on Harry's left.

"Made it!"

Weasley's loud whisper carried clearly across the room, but he didn't seem to care. Harry winced as Weasley kept talking, "Can you imagine the look on old McGonagall's face if we were late?"

They didn't need to imagine it. The next instant, the tabby cat that had been sitting primly on the teacher's desk leapt to the floor, shifting forms seamlessly as it did so. Professor McGonagall landed gracefully on her two feet, eyes flashing behind her spectacles as she fixed Weasley with a stern glare.

Harry didn't even hear the professor's words to Weasley, nor the boy's feeble responses, too focused on the implications of what he'd just seen.

_'Can any witch or wizard turn into an animal? Is it hard? Is it only one animal, or more than one? Could any animal I see be a witch or wizard?'_

Class began, pulling Harry from his racing thoughts, and he watched the professor closely. The redhead prefect that had led Harry and the other first years to their dorms had said their head of house as strict, but fair. His last teacher had also been strict, and hadn't tolerated any sort of foolishness in her class. This meant that in her classroom Harry had been safe from Dudley, and any other students who didn't like him. He hoped Professor McGonagall would be the same.

As she called his name for roll, her eyes lingered briefly on him, making him shift slightly in his seat. Her lips were tight, like Aunt Petunia's usually were when she looked at Harry. He hoped this didn't mean the Professor didn't like him. He couldn't think of anything he'd done to make her mad.

Class continued and, much to Harry's relief, Professor McGonagall seemed content to ignore him. However, it soon became clear that while the Transfiguration professor could be strict, she was not fair. Though she would continuously scan the class for mischief, she did nothing when Gryffindors commented snidely about their Slytherin classmates. But each time a Slytherin responded, she called them out and deducted points. Once though, she took points from a Gryffindor who got too loud.

As far as the classwork went, Harry quite enjoyed it. Professor McGonagall started class with a ten minute lecture on the nature of Transfiguration. It was fascinating, and Harry drank in every word. Afterwards, she then handed each student a matchstick with the instructions to use the base incantation she'd just explained to turn the matchstick into a needle.

So, Harry turned his attention to his matchstick.

He frowned as he drew his wand and trained the tip on the matchstick. His eyes half closed as he focused on his wand and the connection he had to it. He tried to feel what Professor McGonagall described as 'the connection between wizard and wand', and thought he might have found it when his wand hummed suddenly.

Holding the image of a needle in his mind, Harry imagined the wooden matchstick slowly hardening, sharpening, and turning silver. His wand gave a shiver, and he felt something tingle in his breastbone, then it stopped and he looked down.

A needle was shining dully on the desktop.

Grinning like a fool, Harry lifted the needle up to examine it carefully. To his delight, the needle was solid metal, with a perfectly formed eye, and a sharp point.

His first spell as a Hogwarts student was a success!

**-Line Break-**

Harry's first week at Hogwarts was the longest, the best, the worst, and the most exhausting week he'd ever experienced. And that included every miserable day he'd spent at the Dursleys.

On the one hand, his classes were wonderful. He was learning _magic_! He got to eat three entire meals a day! Also, his teachers were very interesting. One of them was a real live ghost! (Or, a real... dead ghost?)

But on the other hand, whispers followed him from the moment he stepped into the Gryffindor common room in the morning, until the moment he closed his dorm room door behind him at night. Portraits muttered excitedly as he passed, some occupants running to their neighbor's frames to get a better look at him - or rather, his scar.

Ghosts weren't any better, constantly sticking their heads through corridor walls, floors, or ceilings wherever he was. Even Peeves, the school's prank-loving poltergeist, paid Harry special attention, never missing an opportunity to float above the small boy's head and sing extremely rude variations of popular songs, though his versions were all about 'Wee Potty' defeating 'Moldy Voldy'.

Privately, Harry thought Peeves' songs were pretty funny (if he ignored the fact that _he_ was 'Wee Potty'), but they made Professor McGonogall scowl and irritated the other students. Quite a few Slytherins stared and whispered the first couple of days, but after the first of Peeves' songs was circulated, they took to glaring. A few of the older years had even brushed past Harry in the halls in order to deliver whispered threats or a cutting comment.

Harry didn't think every single Slytherin disliked him. There were easily more than a hundred students in that house after all, and Draco was a Slytherin too. That thought made Harry frown as he walked down an empty corridor.

He'd approached Draco at breakfast once, but the blonde had just looked at him with a kind of blank expression and Harry had retreated. He was trying not to admit it, but Draco's treatment hurt. He'd thought... well, he'd thought they were friends.

_'I guess being Harry Potter is a bigger deal than I'd thought.'_

The older Slytherins' snide comments had begun only two days after the Sorting, though a lot of what was said was merely an echo of what his relatives had spat at him for ten years, so he found he could ignore it.

"You think you're so special, Potter..."

"... bet the teachers let him get away with anything..."

"... precious Potter. Let's all fawn over him ..."

"Watch yourself, Potter. Not everyone worships you..."

"Baby Potter survived the killing curse. A hex wouldn't even scratch you, would it?"

His fourth day of Hogwarts was the end of both his safety and his peace of mind. Students had begun slinging hexes at him from around corners and in empty corridors or classrooms, leaving his face puffed up painfully, his sides and arms stinging, or causing angry boils to erupt wherever the hex hit. Quills, parchment, inkpots, and completed homework assignments were stolen from his bag and pockets, vandalized, or destroyed. He'd caught sight of the faces of a few of his tormentors the last few days, but he had no proof of the bullying, and the bullies themselves were clever enough to hide their tracks.

Just ten minutes ago, an unfamiliar jinx had hit him from behind as he'd been descending the marble staircase on his way to dinner. He'd known he shouldn't be out alone, but he had still clung to the hope that maybe the bullying would simply stop.

The jinx had sent him flying headfirst down the staircase, and the only thing that saved him from breaking anything was his natural response, honed by years of being shoved down staircases by Dudley. His body moved on autopilot, bringing his knees up and chin down, and rolling down the stairs in a more or less controlled manner. He'd landed clumsily, but on his feet, and now with several bruises and welts along his shins, arms, back, and sides.

Having decided to avoid the Great Hall, Harry made his way to what was quickly becoming his favorite part of the castle. With one last scan of the corridor behind him, he slipped behind a suit of armor and pressed a tiny stylized _**H**_ carved into the corner of one of the stones.

There was a brief shimmer, and Harry limped through what looked like a solid wall. The illusion he'd just passed though reverted back to solid stone behind him as he moved down the narrow passage. He'd found this passage just yesterday by ducking behind the armor to avoid some purple spell aimed at him.

Several meters from the entrance, though Harry suspected magic took the passage much farther, it opened up into a large room full of squashy armchairs, deep couches, and cushions, a cheerful blaze in the fireplace. The room was shaped like an irregular circle, and the walls were interspersed with multiple cabinets and several more passageways.

Above the fireplace, an inscription was carved into the stone, lifting Harry's spirits as he read it again.

_**Welcome, children, to the Sett.**_

_**This room is for healing and comfort, designed to feel like a home away from home. The passageways leading here will only open to those who have real need of comfort and rest, so please have something to eat and lay down your head for a while. Leave aside your worries for now, and simply rest.**_

_**\- Helga Hufflepuff**_

A brief smile crossed his face as he limped over to one of the cabinets and opened it to reveal an assortment of healing potions, fresh sandwiches and fruits, and blankets. Taking a few potions and two turkey sandwiches, he moved to his favorite armchair by the fire and sat down with careful movements.

_'I don't know why I expected Hogwarts to be different.' _He thought dully as he uncorked one of the potions and downed it, not even flinching at the sour flavor. '_I guess magic made me a freak at the Dursleys, and being the Boy-Who-Lived makes me a freak here.'_

Setting the sandwiches and remaining jars on the table, he pulled off his robes, tie and shirt, and couldn't hold in a low groan. His skin was unhealthily pale, his torso dangerously thin, and several bruises had formed from where he'd hit the stairs earlier. Ignoring the aching pain, he folded each piece of clothing carefully and set them on the low table in front of him. He knew he didn't need to treat them so delicately, but he couldn't bring himself to mistreat the only clothes purchased just for _him _since he was a baby.

He'd just lifted the jar of bruise salve off the table where there was a loud POP from behind him. The jar went flying toward the sound as Harry leapt up and around, snatching his wand from the tabletop and pointing it toward whatever had made the noise. There was a yelp as the jar hit someone, and Harry's eyes widened as he saw what.

A tiny creature was rubbing its large head with long fingers, bat-like ears flapping gently, and enormous brown eyes screwed up in pain. Around its torso was a tea towel tied like a toga, bearing the Hogwarts crest, and Harry immediately recognized it from one of his wizarding culture books.

Hastily, Harry stowed his wand back in his wrist cuff and approached the house elf quickly, a frantic apology on his lips. "I'm so sorry!"

He crouched down in front of it, ignoring his body's protests. "I didn't mean to hit you! I thought you were, well... oh, you're hurt!"

A rapidly developing bruise was becoming visible on the little creature's pale forehead. Harry cringed, hating that he'd hurt an innocent being.

"I'm sorry!" He said again, desperately looking around, then snatching the jar of salve from where it landed by his feet.

"Let me help."

The house elf froze, staring in shock as Harry began to gently spread the salve on the bruise. After only a few seconds, the bruise shrank and the swelling went down until the skin was smooth and unmarked.

"There." Harry leaned away hesitantly as the elf felt its head. "Is that... is that better?"

"Thank you, Mister Wizardy Student." The elf's voice was high and squeaky, but definitely female. "Mipsy should have been more quiet when Mipsy came in, she should. Mipsy is sorry for frightening you, Mister Wizardy Student."

"It's okay. I'm just sorry I hurt you." Harry gave a tiny relieved smile, then winced as he stood.

"Mister Wizardy Student is hurt!" Mipsy stared at the bruises marring Harry's torso and arms. Her eyes grew impossibly wide, before hardening with purpose. Moving quickly, she grabbed the salve jar from his hand and ushered him into his vacated armchair in three seconds flat.

"You is to be holding still now, Mister Wizardy Student." Mipsy's squeaky voice was stern, making Harry smile a bit. His smile morphed into a grimace as the salve on Mipsy's fingers met a particularly nasty bruise on his side. Some of the skin must have been scraped off because the cool salve stung horribly.

Uncomfortable with the silence and unused to someone else caring for his injuries, Harry spoke up. "So... um, did you need something in here, or..."

Mipsy glanced up at him, then back at the bruise she was treating as she answered, "It is Mipsy's turn to clean the Sett. Mipsy came in to clean and to check the Keeping spells."

"Keeping spells?" Harry hadn't heard about those sorts of spells before.

"Yes, sir." Mipsy moved onto a different bruise. "Keeping spells is making sure that sandwiches and fruits stay good."

"Oh." Realization dawned. "Stasis spells, like magic refrigerators."

Pausing in her ministrations, Mipsy tilted her head at Harry. "What is being 'frigidators'?"

Harry grinned at her pronunciation, then flinched as she went back to his bruises. "Ow... refrigerators are like big boxes of cold that non-magicals invented to keep food from going bad."

Mipsy looked unimpressed, but said nothing. Silence fell once more, only broken by the crackling and popping of the fire.

"If Mister Wizardy Student will be turning around," Mipsy said after a while, spinning a finger to demonstrate the movement, "Mipsy can be doing the other side, too."

"Harry." The boy corrected, turning like she wanted him to, until he was facing the back of the armchair. "My name's Harry."

Mipsy waited for a moment, but when it appeared the boy wasn't going to elaborate, she asked, "Who is being your family, Mister Harry?"

Harry paused, then shook his head. "My family's all dead. They were the Potters."

"Oh." Mipsy's tone was that of tragic recognition. "Mipsy is sorry Mister Harry Potter's family is gone, and is very sorry to be bringing up such bad pain."

Harry was touched by the sincerity in the elf's voice. She was the first person to offer her sympathies for his parents' deaths. No one at Hogwarts seemed to realize exactly what being the Boy-Who-Lived had cost him.

"Mister Harry Potter, sir?"

Mipsy's gentle tone made Harry realize he was trembling. Trying to relax, he let out a shaky breath.

"Thanks Mipsy. Thanks for caring."

"Of course, Mister Harry Potter sir."

Harry gave a weak chuckle. "You can just call me Harry, if you want."

The elf did not reply, so silence fell again. Harry leaned his forehead on the upholstered back of the chair, and closed his eyes. The gentle pressure of Mipsy's fingers, the warmth of the fire, and the exhaustion of the last week had him asleep within minutes.

**-Line Break-**

The second weekend of Harry Potter's first term at Hogwarts found the tiny boy curled up in a cupboard in a forgotten section of the sixth floor. He'd thought that avoiding the dungeons would keep him safe from his tormentors among the older Slytherins. He was right. But he hadn't counted on the Ravenclaws. A group of the blue and bronze students had cornered him and shoved him into this cupboard nearly two hours ago, then left after locking the door with a spell he didn't know.

It was almost funny how things didn't ever seem to change. He'd gotten away from the Dursleys only to find another group of people more than happy to shove him in a cupboard. Shifting around to get more comfortable, Harry resigned himself to waiting for the locking spell to wear off.

He wasn't entirely certain why he was being bullied. He got that some of the Slytherins' families followed You-Know-Who and they were mad at Harry for defeating him, but that couldn't be all. Ravenclaws had locked him up this time, and he'd been entirely ignored by the Hufflepuffs, even when he'd tried to reach out to them. His dorm mates didn't talk to him much, and the other Gryffindors seemed to forget about him the morning after the sorting.

For some reason, and he had no idea what it was, his fellow students either disliked him or wanted nothing to do with him. At Privet Drive, and at school with Dudley, he was bullied for being a freak, being dirty, being stupid, or being the orphan son of two drunks. Here, his magic wasn't freakishness, he was allowed to shower every day, he didn't have to score lower than Dudley on tests, and everyone knew his parents had died fighting.

Harry could see no reason for the other students to treat him like they had been. So, with a sinking heart, he resigned himself to the fact that people just didn't like him. They probably thought he was weird, or too small, or ignorant, or maybe even gross.

_'I guess Aunt Petunia was right.'_ He hugged his bag to his chest, ignoring the way his throat was tightening and his nose was stinging. '_I am just an unwanted freak... But at least they didn't take my bag.'_

He maneuvered a leather-bound journal onto his lap, an ever-full quill into his hand, and an everlasting candle onto the floor next to him, then settled in as best he could to write while he waited for the locking spell on the door to wear off.

He'd decided to keep a written record of what happened in his life, ever since the Sorting Feast. Before the letter arrived and changed his world, Harry had thought he was a nothing, a no one. He'd simply been a freak, an abnormality. Nothing worth remembering. Now though, he had a name, a family, a history, a school, and so much more. By writing it all down, he felt like he was leaving his stamp on the world. Harry Potter was real, he has experiences and challenges that matter, and he doesn't want to be forgotten.

He tried to write down everything he thought was important; conversations he thought were significant, thoughts he'd had during different experiences, and things that had made an impression on him. A lot of what he'd written was messy and disjointed, with class notes mixed in alongside his personal thoughts and a few doodles. He loved it.

For now, he thought he'd write about his first Potions class. Nodding firmly, he set his quill to the pages. That had been an important day.

_My first Potions class was Wednesday morning, and according to the other students, the Potions professor and Head of Slytherin House, Professor Severus Snape, is an evil, slimy git that hates everyone that's not a Slytherin and will give detentions for 'breathing too loud' or 'wearing an offensive color'. But he's also Draco's godfather, and that means he's friends of the Malfoys, and the Malfoys were really nice, but they are also a bit scary. _

_So I was kind of nervous for class._

_The Potions room is in the dungeon (Slytherin territory). This was not very safe for me so I made sure to sit away from the door. Also, the Gryffindors and Slytherins sit on opposite sides of the room so I was able to blend in a bit. I'd just set out my things when the entrance door slammed open, and Professor Snape glided into the room._

_"There will be no foolish wand-waving, nor silly incantations in this class." was the first thing he said. _

_And man, did he say it! _

_His voice was deep and he was very tall, with black eyes that looked at you like he knew what you were thinking. _

_He was amazing!_

_His introduction to the course was also awesome. He promised that if we listened, worked hard, and paid attention, we could 'bottle fame, brew glory, and put a stopper in death'. I don't know about the first two, but stopping death... _

_He was confident and a bit arrogant, but in a good way, and his robes did this super cool thing when he walked. So cool! He reminded me a bit of Lord Malfoy._

_Then he called my name for roll, and I could tell he didn't like me. At all. _

_Two months ago, I'd have done anything to avoid attention, but now... I wanted to impress Professor Snape. He didn't (and doesn't) like me, which is not fun, but at least means he will be paying attention to what I do. So I decided to try and be a bit like him, or at least a bit more confident._

_So I sat up straight and met Professor Snape's eyes. I swear, it felt like he was looking through me and at everything I've ever tried to hide!_

_Then he asked me some Potions questions, and I got all the answers right!_

_\- When adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, you get the base for the potion called the Draft of Living Death_

_\- A beezor (what is it?) can be found in the stomach of a goat (ew, why?)_

_\- Monkshood and wolfsbane is the same plant_

_I didn't get any points (I haven't gotten any points yet), but instead Professor Snape nodded at me. I felt really happy, and also kind of proud, which is weird because I don't think I've ever felt that before. Uncle Vernon says that pride is a sin, but he also says he's proud of Dudley all the time, so I guess it depends? Why?_

_Anyway, Potions was amazing. We made a cure for boils (I was partnered with Neville, who knew a lot about the different plants!) and we didn't get any homework. _

_I've had a few more Potions classes, and they were all just as cool. I haven't gotten any points still, but I've learned a lot! Neville is a big help. He knows all sorts of things about the plants, and I'm used to chopping and following recipes, so we make a great team! He seems kind of sad most of the time though. I know Professor Snape makes him nervous, but mostly he leaves us alone. _

_I'm really looking forward to Potions next Wednesday. Professor Snape said we'd be making bruise salves, like what I use in the Sett. It'll be great to know how to make them myself._

**-Line Break-**

Harry's first flying class was postponed for nearly two weeks due to high winds and storms, so it was a rather lonely and wary Harry that trailed after his yearmates as they made their way down to the Quidditch Pitch. They were partnered with the Slytherins, and Harry couldn't help but look over at Draco. Even after two weeks, he hoped they could be friends. But when he caught Draco's eye, the blonde just turned away to talk to Zabini.

Ignoring the hurt, Harry looked down at the brooms that were laid out. He didn't know much about wizard brooms, but he knew Aunt Petunia wouldn't use these even to clean out the garage. The handles were dull and scratched, and the bristles stuck out everywhere. He nudged the closest with his foot, and a few sad twigs fell to the grass.

"Alright first years!" Called the flying professor, Madam Hooch, "Everyone line up next to a broomstick."

Harry was quick to stake a claim by one of the least shabby brooms, and he was happy to see Draco had gotten a good one too. The other boy had seemed really excited about flying when they'd talked in Diagon Alley.

"Now," Madam Hooch began, her voice carrying clearly and commanding everyone's attention, "I want everyone to stick their wand hand over their broom. Now, with feeling, command the broom to rise and say 'up'!

"UP!" Twenty voices echoed in unison, and several brooms rose up into the air. To his surprise, Harry's broom nearly leapt up from the ground and smacked solidly into his palm. Glancing around, he realized that Draco's had done the same. Neville's had just quivered a bit, and it looked like Granger's had rolled away from her.

Once everyone had their brooms in hand, Madam Hooch had them all straddle their brooms, then walked up and down the lines giving out a few pointers. Harry committed them to memory at once, more nervous than he'd care to admit.

"Hold the handle with your wand hand in front, but not too far up the broom."

"Keep your elbows bent, like Mister Malfoy is doing."

"No, Miss Patil. Brooms are meant to be ridden astride."

"Center your weight by leaning forward slightly. Use your arms for support, not just direction."

She helped a Slytherin girl correct her posture, then faced the rest of the class. Apparently satisfied with what she saw, she pulled out her whistle.

"Now, on the count of three I want you all to kick off from the ground, hard. Your brooms will rise four feet or so into the air, and I want you to simply hover. Don't turn your brooms, and absolutely do not pull the handles up. After a moment or so, push the handle of your broom down slightly to touch back down. Ready? Three, two, one!"

She blew her whistle and the sharp noise made everyone jump a bit. Brooms up and down the lines rose up slowly as their passengers grinned and grimaced. Harry's stomach swooped as he rose faster than he'd expected, then came to a halt nearly six feet off the ground.

Off the ground! He was floating - no, flying!

His mind went blissfully blank, and his eyes slid out of focus as he bathed in the wondrous and magical feeling of being in the air. This was fantastic! This was worth every bruise and hex, every insult and nasty look - this was worth it all.

"Now touch back down." Came Madam Hooch's voice, bringing Harry back to reality. "Push down on your broom handles."

Reluctant to land, Harry did as instructed and his feet met the ground with a soft thud. His heart was pounding and he suddenly realized that he was grinning. Deciding he didn't care, he looked around and caught Draco's eye, the other boy having landed just then. Still on the high from his short flight (flight!), Harry just grinned wider. Draco froze, then sent Harry a tentative smile.

"Just push down on the handle, Mister Longbottom."

Harry looked to his left to find Neville still in the air, looking distinctly green. He had frozen, and didn't seem to be hearing a word Madam Hooch was saying. Then, quite suddenly, Neville's broom gave a lurch and began to rise higher.

"Mister Longbottom!"

Briefly, Harry wondered why Madam Hooch thought shouting would help, but then all thoughts fled as Neville's broom stopped rising and began zooming toward the castle, picking up speed as it went. Harry's stomach clenched and he stood frozen where he stood as he watched Neville, his closest (and only) friend being hurtled toward the massive stone walls of their school. Abruptly, Neville's broom jerked up, missing the wall, but now carrying the first year higher and higher.

Harry realized what was about to happen a moment before it did. Neville slid off the back of his vertical broom and dropped like a stone toward the ground. Halfway there, his robe caught on a torch bracket and jerked him to a stop, but before Harry could relax, the robe tore and Neville crashed to the ground below.

"Out of the way! Out of the way!" Madam Hooch commanded, striding through the crowd of first years who'd swarmed closer to where Neville had fallen.

Harry remained where he stood, breathing hard and clutching his own broom, eyes fixed on Madam Hooch as she scooped up his friend and announced that she was taking him to the hospital wing. Harry sent Neville what he hope was a reassuring smile as the boy passed, but he didn't think the other boy saw it.

"You are all to remain on the ground." Madam Hooch called as she passed the students. "Anyone caught flying while I'm gone will be given detention until the holidays."

The whole class watched in silence as Madam Hooch and Neville disappeared into the school. Moments later, a loud shout of laughter drew everyone's attention.

Ronald Weasley was grinning, holding something up to catch the light. "Look! He dropped his Rememberal. No wonder he forgot how to fly!"

Harry scowled. He recognized the little glass ball Weasley was waving around. Neville's grandmother had mailed- owled it to him just that morning, though Harry didn't know what it was. But he did know that it meant a lot to Neville.

He stepped forward, arm extended expectantly. "Give it here, Weasley."

Weasley just laughed. "C'mon, Harry. Even with this thing, it's not like Neville'd be any good at flying anyway."

"Just hand it over." Harry demanded, distantly realizing that this was probably the first time he'd ever stood up to someone, "I'll give it back to Neville."

"Why do you care so much?" Weasley scowled.

Harry didn't even have to think about it. "Because he's my friend."

Weasley flushed bright red and his scowl grew. Harry had no idea why the redhead was getting so angry, but he refused to back down. For Neville's sake.

"Your friend. Right." The sneer on Weasley's face looked oddly out of place, "Like anyone would ever be friends with that tubby crybaby."

There was a sudden rushing in Harry's ears, and his face felt hot. Something was bubbling furiously in his chest, and he suddenly pictured punching Weasley in his freckled face.

"Give. It. Here."

It took Harry a second to recognize the cold voice as his own. Weasley's face went slightly pale, then reddened even further as he clambered onto his broom and kicked off.

"I think I'll leave it somewhere for Neville to find." He called down, sneer back in place, "How about on the roof?"

Without hesitating, without thinking, without considering the consequences, Harry swung a leg over his broom and followed Weasley into the air. Several students shouted after him, but he was deaf to them all. All that mattered was getting that glass ball for Neville.

"Give it here, Weasley!" Harry shouted, "Or I'll knock you off your broom!"

It didn't matter that he was half the size of the other boy. He was utterly determined.

"Fine then!" Weasley bellowed back, then cocked his arm back. "Catch!"

The ball spun, catching the light as it hurtled through the air, and Harry laid flat on his broom as he zoomed after it. Eyes fixed on his prize, he dove after it, exhilarating in the feeling of the wind through his hair and the sheer freedom of flight.

The ground grew closer and closer, but Harry didn't think about that. The ball was so close... it was right in front of him... he took his hand off his broom and reached out... he caught it!

As soon as he felt the glass in his palm, he swerved his broom and pulled out of the dive, realizing as he did so that he was much closer to the ground than he'd thought. Close enough that it only took a second to touch down and dismount.

Feet back on the ground and legs shaking uncontrollably, Harry stared around at the students who had swarmed him upon landing. They were cheering for some reason... for him? His heart was pounding, his ears were ringing, and he couldn't stop grinning.

That was flying! That was freedom! That was-

"Mister Potter!"

It was as though someone had doused him in a bucket of ice. Professor McGonagall was striding down the lawn toward them, her glasses flashing, and her lips pursed so thinly they had disappeared. The crowd of students went silent and slid quickly apart as she drew nearer.

Harry's heart, which had been pounding so fiercely before, seemed to freeze in his chest. His broom fell from his suddenly trembling fingers, and he clumsily shoved Neville's glass ball into his pocket. She couldn't have it.

"Mister Potter." Professor McGonagall had reached him. He took one look at her expression and fixed his eyes to his shoes. Whatever punishment she gave, he would accept without complaint. He'd learned that lesson well enough with the Dursleys.

But all the stern professor said was, "Follow me."

So he did.

Across the lawn, into the castle, down the halls, up some stairs, down another hall, and through a trick door. The further they went, the drier Harry's mouth went. They weren't anywhere near the Transfiguration classroom, or Professor McGonagall's office, and they were clear on the other side of the castle from Gryffindor tower. Where was she taking him?

A sudden, horrible thought struck. Were they going to the Headmaster? Was he about to be expelled?

_'No! I can't be expelled! I want to learn magic, and fly again, and be friends with Draco, and... and...'_

Inside his robe pockets, Harry clenched his hands into fists. No. All Madam Hooch had said was detention. He clung to the thought as Professor McGonagall finally came to a stop. Glancing around, Harry suddenly realized where they were: outside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Professor McGonagall knocked sharply, then pushed open the door. Harry wrinkled his nose involuntarily against the sudden draft of garlicky air. The scent was so heavy that he always left DADA with a headache.

"Pardon me, Professor Quirrell." Professor McGonagall called, and Harry forgot about the garlic as he listened. "Would you allow me to borrow Wood for a moment?"

Harry blinked, then paled. Was Wood a cane of some sort? Was she going to beat him? Uncle Vernon had often talked about his old school, Smeltings, and had laughed about how his professors would 'whack some sense' into his thicker classmates. Dudley had even gotten a cane as part of his Smeltings uniform just that summer. Were beatings as punishments at school normal, then?

His racing thoughts came to a jumbled halt as Professor McGonagall came out of the classroom, not with a cane, but with an older boy wearing a Gryffindor tie. Hesitantly, Harry followed the two of them into a nearby classroom, jumping a bit when the door swung shut behind them.

"Mister Potter." Professor McGonagall began, "this is Oliver Wood. Wood, this is Harry Potter." She then smiled a sly smile that made Harry take a quick step back. "I believe Mister Potter will be a most adequate replacement for Charlie Weasley."

"Really?" Wood's gaze sharpened, and he inspected Harry with the same intensity that Aunt Petunia gave to the goings on of the neighbors. Hunching his shoulders, Harry glanced between Wood and his Head of House, wondering if it would be alright to ask what they meant to do with him.

"He's got the build for it," Wood declared, apparently finished studying Harry, "but he's a bit small. You sure he's a good fit?"

_'Good fit for what?'_ Harry wondered relaxing a bit as he realized they didn't seem to want to hurt him.

"I just saw him catch a bauble three feet off the ground from a fifty foot dive." Professor McGonagall declared, her smile turning smug.

"Well." Wood breathed, looking Harry up and down again, "He'll do just fine then."

"Er-" Harry spoke up tentatively, looking to Professor McGonagall, "Just fine for what, Professor?"

"Quidditch." She replied, still smiling smugly, "Gryffindor seeker."

Harry blinked. Quidditch was that game that wizards liked, he remembered from his books and some posters in Gryffindor Tower. Played in the air on broomsticks, with a bunch of different balls. He didn't know much about it, though he now regretted skimming that section of his wizarding culture book.

"But," He had to ask, "aren't I in trouble?"

Wood just laughed. "If McGonagall says you'll be seeker, I wouldn't worry about it.

Harry frantically tried to make sense of this strange turn of events. "You... want me to be the seeker... for the Gryffindor team?"

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Our last seeker graduated last year, and I've been looking for some new talent. You've certainly inherited more from your father than his looks, and it couldn't come at a better time. Severus was commenting on our lack of options just last week. I cannae wait to see that cup in my office for another year."

None of that made any sense to Harry, though the bit about his father made him double take. He hadn't realized his professor had known his father. Shaking the thought away for now, he turned to Wood. "Aren't there... tryouts and things? And I thought first years weren't allowed..."

Wood waved his hand. "McGonagall says you're good, and that's good enough for me."

_'But will it be good enough for everyone else?'_ Harry wondered, then his eyes widened as he realized something. If Quidditch was as popular as he thought, there were sure to be lots of people who wanted to play, and once they found out that Harry had taken their spot, especially since it was against the rules, they were sure to be angry. And he didn't even know how to play!

"Um... thanks very much, Professor, but..." Harry swallowed, then finished quickly before he lost his nerve, "I don't think I'd be any good at Quidditch!"

Wood appeared dumbstruck, but Professor McGonagall simply raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather have detention from now until the winter holidays?"

"...no..." Harry hated it when he was forced to choose between two bad things. It was a favorite game of Aunt Petunia's.

"Well, then." Professor McGonagall declared, as if the matter were settled. And Harry supposed it was. His stomach sank as he realized what he was in for. There would be students who would be mad, and he'd definitely mess up during a game so then they'd be even madder. This was not going to end well.

His heart was heavy as he followed Professor McGonagall and Wood out of the classroom. There was no way he could convince them to leave him off the team. All he could do now was read up on Quidditch and hope he could play as well as his professor expected him to.

"Minerva. This is an odd time to be meeting with students, don't you think?"

Harry's head snapped up at the deep voice, and he couldn't help but stand a bit straighter as Professor Snape walked (glided, really) down the corridor toward them.

"Severus." Professor McGonagall sounded irritated, and Harry slid a bit further from her. "There was an incident in Mister Potter's flying class and I required Mister Wood's help in resolving it."

"I see." Professor Snape glanced over Wood and Harry before continuing smoothly, "Of course it's understandable that you would require the assistance of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain when disciplining your first years for flying infractions. I'll just leave you to it, shall I?"

"Yes. You shall." Was Professor McGonagall's terse response.

"Very well. I'm sure you have it well in hand, and have considered all aspects of this situation. It really wouldn't do for any sort of personal opinion to overturn established school policies." Professor Snape's gaze flickered to Harry briefly. "Though perhaps I am misjudging the circumstances?"

"She wants me to join the Quidditch team, Professor." Harry blurted out, then clapped his hands over his mouth. Why had he said that?! He should know better than to interrupt!

One of Professor Snape's eyebrows rose slowly as he turned to Professor McGonagall. "Indeed?"

"The boy is a natural." Professor McGonagall looked very much like Aunt Petunia in that moment. "And we have a spot open since Mister Weasley's graduation."

"Of course." Professor Snape agreed smoothly. "I'm sure his natural ability will assure him a spot on the team during tryouts next year. That is, if the boy wants to play."

"If!" Wood spoke up then, sounding offronted. "It's Quidditch! He's got real ability, not to mention his father was a legendary chaser during his time here. Of course he'd want to play!"

Professor Snape turned a piercing eye on Harry's housemate, and the other boy practically shrank. Harry glanced back and forth between the two. What about his father? Had he really been on the Quidditch team?

"Severus." Professor McGonagall drew the tall man's attention back to her, "I'm sure Albus wouldn't mind bending the rules for Mister Potter. Especially for a chance to be closer to his father..."

Harry wasn't sure why, but this made Professor Snape go very still. Glancing anxiously between the two professors, he twisted the fabric of his robes as the tension rose.

"Why don't we ask the boy himself?" Professor Snape suggested in a dangerously soft voice, turning his sharp eyes on Harry. "Mister Potter. Do you desire a place on the Quidditch team this year? Do you want to play?"

"Er-" Harry hesitated, gaze darting toward Professor McGonagall briefly. Did he want to play? Was that a trick question? Well, he knew he didn't want to be in trouble with his housemates, and he definitely didn't want to mess up during a game and make anyone mad. So he looked back at Professor Snape and shook his head. "No. I... I don't."

The man nodded once, then addressed the other professor. "There you have it. I'm sure you can decide upon an adequate punishment for whatever infraction occurred during his lesson today. Good day."

He swept away, cloak billowing impressively behind him, and Harry almost gasped as he turned the corner and vanished in a swirl of black.

_'So cool!'_

"Mister Potter."

Jumping a bit, Harry quickly gave his attention to his Head of House. Her lips were pursed and she was scowling, though Harry thought she might be madder at Professor Snape than she was at him.

"I am going to have to take ten points from Gryffindor and assign you a week's worth of detention for that stunt you pulled. Next time, follow the instructions given by your professor."

Harry nodded hurriedly, and Professor McGonagall sighed. "Wood, you can return to class."

"Alright professor. Sorry about..."

Professor McGonagall just waved a hand at him, and the older boy entered his class.

"Mister Potter. You will report to my office at 7 in the evening next Tuesday night for your first detention. Return to class now."

"Yes Professor."

Harry moved quickly down the hall, wanting to leave that whole mess behind him. He'd much rather have the detentions than anything else. At least he wasn't going to be on the team.

_'I hope no one finds out about this.'_ he thought as he glanced out a window, where he could see Gryffindor Tower. _'I broke the rules, then almost got out of detention. They might be mad about that.'_

**-Line Break-**

Unfortunately for Harry, the Gryffindors did find out. Apparently Oliver Wood was so disappointed to lose 'such a promising Seeker' that he'd complained about it to his friends, who shared the story with theirs, until it was known all over the school that Harry Potter had refused a spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.

Initially, Harry thought his housemates would be mad that he'd nearly gotten out of trouble. Then he realized that they were actually mad because they had wanted him to be on the team! Once they heard the story of his fifty foot dive, they all had decided, like Professor McGonagall, that he would be great at Quidditch, and were furious that he hadn't become seeker.

The safety provided by Gryffindor Tower diminished considerably, with his housemates sending him hostile glares, snide comments, and sometimes shoving into him as they passed. Conversely, the Slytherins backed off. In fact, many of them now called out to him in the halls in friendly voices, though their eyes were alight with cruel laughter.

"Thanks Potter!"

"We owe you one!"

"Knew we could count on you!"

The only good thing that came from all of this was that Harry got Neville's little glass ball back to him. When Harry handed it to him in the dorms that evening, Neville's face had lit up and he had smiled bigger than Harry had ever seen before. That, he thought, was worth the anger from his other Housemates.


End file.
